Itiilir 


L 


TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 


TORCHY, 

PRIVATE   SEC 


BY 

8EWELL  FORD 

AUTHOR  OP 

TORCHY,  TRYING  OUT  TORCHY, 
.ON  WITH  TORCHY,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

F.  FOSTER  LINCOLN 


COPYRIGHT,  1014,  1915,  BY 
SEWELL    FORD 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
EDWARD    J.    CLODE 


SRLF 
URL 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  UP  CAT.T.  FOB  TOBCHY        ....,«  1 

II.  TOBCHY  MAKES  THE  SIB  CLASS      .      ,.,      ..;      .  19 

III.  TOBCHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE      .       . .     .„      t..      .  37 

IV.  BBEAKINQ  IT  TO  THE  Boss      .       .  .    ,.      >       .  56 
V.  SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY                         >      .  75 

VI.  WHEN  SKEET  HAD  His  DAY  ...,.,.  95 

VII.  GETTING  A  JOLT  FBOM  WESTY       .       .       .       .113 

VIII.  SOME  GUESSES  ON  RUBY  .       .       .       .              .  129 

IX.  TOBCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP 148 

X.  THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY      .       .    •  .       ...  170 

XI.  TEAMWOBK  WITH  AUNTY 188 

XII.  ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE      ....  206 

XIII.  SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL  .......  223 

XIV.  How  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS  .       .       .       .       .  243 

XV.  MB.   ROBEBT  AND  A  CEBTAIN   PABTY         .          .          .  259 

XVI.  TOBCHY  TACKLES  A  SHORT  CIBCUIT      .       .       .  275 

XVII.  MB.  ROBEBT  GETS  A  SLANT      .....  290 

XVIII.  WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY  .       .      ...      ..       .  306 

XIX.  SOME  HOOP-LA  FOB  THE  Boss  .  323 


TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   UP   CALL  FOE  TOUCHY 

"*V  TT  TELL,  it's  come!    Uh-huh!    And  sud- 

^^     den,  too,  like  I  knew  it  would,  if  it 

came  at  all.    No  climbin'  the  ladder 

for  me,  not  while  they  run  express  elevators. 

And,  believe  me,  when  the  gate  opened,  I  was 

right  there  with  my  foot  out. 

It  was  like  this :  One  mornin'  I'm  in  my  old 
place  behind  the  brass  rail,  at  the  jump-end  of 
the  buzzer.  I'm  everybody's  slave  in  gen- 
eral, and  Piddie's  football  in  particular^ 
You  know— head  office  boy  of  the  Corrugated 
Trust. 
That's  description  enough,  ain't  it?  And  I'd 

been  there  so  long Honest,  when  I  first 

went  on  the  job  I  used  to  sneak  the  city  direc- 
tory under  the  chair  so  my  toes  could  touch. 
Now  my  knees  rub  the  under-side  of  the  desk. 
Familiar  with  the  place?  Say,  there  are  just 
seventeen  floor  cracks  between  me  and  the  op- 
posite wall;  it's  fifty-eight  steps  through  inta 


2  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Old  Hickory's  roll-top  and  back;  and  the  ink 
I've  poured  into  all  them  desk- wells  would  be 
enough  to  float  a  ferry-boat. 

At  8.30  on  this  special  mornin'  there  I  am, 
as  I  said;  and  at  2.21  P.M.  the  same  day 
I'm Well,  of  course,  there  was  a  few  pre- 
liminaries, though  I  didn't  tag  'em  as  such  when 
they  come  along.  I  expect  the  new  spring  cos- 
tume helped  some.  And  the  shave — oh,  I  was 
goin'  it  strong!  No  cut-price,  closing-out, 
House-of-Smartheimer  bargain,  altered  free  to 
fit — not  so,  Lobelia !  Why,  I  pawed  over  whole 
bales  of  stuff  in  a  sure-enough  Fif th-ave.  tailor 
works;  had  blueprint  plans  of  the  front  and 
side  elevations  drawn,  even  to  the  number  of 
buttons  on  the  cuffs,  and  spent  three  diff'rent 
noon  hours  havin'  it  modeled  on  me  before  they 
could  pull  a  single  bastin'  thread. 

But  it's  some  stream  line  effect  at  the  finish, 
take  it  from  me!  Nothing  sporty  or  cake- 
walky,  you  understand:  just  quiet  and  digni- 
fied and  rich-like,  same  as  any  second  vice  or 
gen'ral  manager  would  wear.  Two-button  sack 
with  wide  English  roll  and  no  turn-up  to  the 
trousers — oh,  I  should  ripple! 

The  shave  was  an  afterthought.  I'd  worked 
up  to  it  by  havin'  some  of  my  lurid  locks 
trimmed,  and  as  Giuseppe  quits  shearin'  and 
asks  if  there  '11  be  anything  else  I  rubs  my  hand 
casual  across  my  jaw  and  remarks : 


THE  UP  CALL  FOE  TORCHY          3 

1 '  Could  you  find  anything  there  to  mow  with 
a  razor  ? ' ' 

Could  he?  He'd  go  through  the  motions  on 
a  glass  doorknob ! 

Then  it's  me  tilted  back  with  my  heels  up 
and  the  suds  artist  decoratin'  my  map  until  it 
looks  like  a  Polish  weddin'  cake.  Don't  it  hit 
you  foolish  the  first  time,  though?  I  felt  like 
everybody  in  the  shop,  includin'  the  brush  boy 
and  the  battery  of  lady  manicures,  was  all  gath- 
ered around  pip  in'  me  off  as  a  raw  beginner. 
So  I  stares  haughty  at  the  ceilin'  and  tries  to 
put  on  a  bored  look. 

I'd  been  scraped  twice  over,  and  was  just 
bein'  unwrapped  from  the  hot  towel,  when  I 
turns  to  see  who  it  is  has  camped  down  in  the 
next  chair,  and  finds  Mr.  Eobert  gazin'  at  me 
curious. 

"Why!"  says  he,  chucklin'.  "If  it  isn't 
Torchy!  Indulging  in  a  shave,  eh?" 

"Oh,  no,  Sir,"  says  I.  "Been  havin'  my  eye 
teeth  tested  for  color  blindness,  that's  all." 

Mr.  Robert  grins  amiable  and  reaches  out 
for  the  check.  "This  is  on  me  then,"  says  he. 
"I  claim  the  privilege." 

As  he  comes  in  after  luncheon  he  has  to  stop 
and  grin  again;  and  later  on,  when  I  answers 
the  buzzer,  he  makes  me  turn  clear  around  so 
he  can  inspect  the  effect  and  size  up  the  new 
suit. 


4  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

" Excellent,  Torchy!"  says  he.  "Whoever 
your  tailor  may  be,  you  do  him  credit. ' ' 

"This  trip  I  paid  cash,  though,"  says  I. 
"It's  all  right,  is  it?" 

"In  every  particular,"  says  he.  "Why,  you 
look  almost  grown  up.  May  I  ask  the  occasion? 
Can  it  be  that  Miss  Verona  is  on  the  point  of 
returning  from  somewhere  or  other?" 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "Bermuda.  Got  in  yes- 
terday. ' ' 

"And  Aunty,  I  trust,"  goes  on  Mr.  Robert, 
"is  as  well  as  usual?" 

"I'm  hoping  for  the  worst,"  says  I;  "but  I 
expect  she  is." 

We  swaps  merry  expressions  again,  and  Mr. 
Robert  pats  me  chummy  on  the  shoulder. 
"You're  quite  all  right,  Torchy,"  says  he, 
1 '  and  I  wish  you  luck. ' '  Then  the  twinkle  fades 
out  of  his  eyes  and  he  turns  serious.  "I  wish," 
he  goes  on,  "that  I  could  do  more  than  just — 
well,  some  time,  perhaps."  And  with  another 
friendly  pat  he  swings  around  to  his  desk, 
where  the  letters  are  stacked  a  foot  high. 

Say,  he's  the  real  thing,  Mr.  Robert  is,  no 
matter  if  he  does  take  it  out  in  wishin'!  It 
ain't  every  boss  would  do  that  much,  specially 
with  the  load  he's  carryin'.  For  you  know 
since  Old  Hickory's  been  down  South  takin* 
seven  kinds  of  baths,  and  prob'ly  cussin'  out 
them  resort  doctors  as  they  was  never  cussed 


THE  UP  CALL  FOE  TOECHY          5 

before,  Mr.  Eobert  Ellins  has  been  doin'  a  heap 
more  than  give  an  imitation  of  bein'  a  busy 
man.  But  he's  there  with  the  wallop,  and  I 
guess  it's  goin'  to  take  more'n  a  com- 
merce court  to  put  the  Corrugated  out  of  busi- 
ness. 

Too  bad,  though,  that  Congress  can't  spare 
the  time  from  botherin'  about  interlockin'  di- 
rectors to  suppress  a  few  padlockin'  aunties. 
Say,  the  way  that  old  girl  does  keep  the  bars 
up  against  an  inoffensive  party  like  me  is  some- 
thing fierce !  I  tries  to  call  Vee  on  the  'phone 
as  soon  as  I've  discovered  where  she  is,  and 
all  the  satisfaction  I  get  is  a  message  delivered 
by  a  French  maid  that  ''Miss  Hemmingway  is 
otherwise  engaged."  Wouldn't  that  crust 
you? 

But  I've  been  up  against  this  embargo  game 
before,  you  know;  so  the  first  chance  I  gets  I 
slips  uptown  to  do  a  little  scoutin'  at  close 
range.  It's  an  apartment  hotel  this  time,  and 
I  hangs  around  the  entrance,  inspectin'  the  bay 
trees  out  front  for  half  an  hour,  before  I  can 
work  up  the  nerve  to  make  the  Brodie  break. 
Fin'lly  I  marches  in  bold  and  calls  for  Aunty 
herself. 

"Is  she  in,  Cephas?"  says  I  to  the  brunette 
Jamacian  in  the  olive-green  liv'ry  who  juggles 
the  elevator. 

"I  don't  rightly  know,  Suh,"  says  he;  "but 


6  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

you  can  send  up  a  call,  Suh,  from  the  desk 
there,  and " 

"Ah,  let's  not  disturb  the  operator,"  says  I. 
"Give  a  guess." 

"I'm  thinking  she'll  be  taking  her  drive, 
Suh,"  says  Cephas,  blinkin'  stupid. 

"Then  I'll  have  to  go  up  and  wait,"  says  I. 
"She'd  be  mighty  sore  on  us  both  if  she  missed 
me.  Up,  Cephas!" 

"Yes,  Suh,"  says  he,  pullin'  the  lever. 

I  should  have  known,  though,  from  one  look 
at  that  to-let  expression  of  his,  that  his  ideas 
on  any  subject  would  be  vague.  And  this  was 
a  bum  hunch  on  Aunty.  Out?  Why,  she  was 
propped  up  in  an  easy-chair  with  a  sprained 
ankle,  and  had  been  for  three  days !  And  you 
should  have  seen  the  tight-lipped,  welcome-to- 
our-grand-jury-room  smile  that  she  greets  me 
with. 

"Humph!"  she  says.  "You!  Well,  young 
man,  what  is  your  excuse  this  time?" 

I  grins  sheepish  and  shuffles  my  feet.  ' '  Same 
old  excuse,"  says  I. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  gasps,  "that 
you  have  the  impudence  to  try  to  see  my  niece, 
after  all  I  have " 

"Uh-huh,"  I  breaks  in.  "Don't  you  ever 
take  a  sportin'  chance  yourself?" 

She  gurgles  somethin'  throaty,  goes  purple 
in  the  gills,  and  prepares  to  smear  me  on  the 


THE  UP  CALL  FOE  TORCHY          7 

spot ;  but  I  gives  her  the  straight  look  between 
the  eyes  and  hurries  on. 

1 '  Oh,  I  know  where  you  stand,  all  right, ' '  says 
I;  "but  ain't  you  drawin'  it  a  little  strong? 
Say,  where's  the  harm  in  me  takin'  Verona  out 
for  a  half -hour  walk  along  the  Drive?  We 
ain't  had  a  chat  for  over  two  months,  you  know, 
not  a  w^ord,  and  I'd  kind  of  like  to " 

"No  doubt,"  says  Aunty.  "Are  you  quite 
certain,  however,  that  Verona  would  like  it 
too?" 

"I'm  always  guessin'  where  Vee  is  con- 
cerned," I  admits;  "but  by  the  latest  dope  I 
had  on  the  subject,  I  expect  she  wouldn't  ob- 
ject strenuous." 

Aunty  sniffs.  "It  is  quite  possible,"  says 
she.  "Verona  is  a  whimsical,  wilful  girl  at 
times,  just  as  her  poor  mother  was.  Keeping 
up  this  pretense  of  friendship  for  you  is  one 
of  her  silly  notions." 

"Thanks  awfully,  Ma'am,"  says  I. 

"Let  me  see,"  goes  on  Aunty,  squintin'  foxy 
at  me,  "you  are  employed  in  Mr.  Ellins 's  .office, 
I  believe!" 

I  nods. 

"As  office  boy,  still?"  says  she. 

"No,  as  a  live  one,"  says  I.  "Anybody  that 
stays  still  very  long  at  the  Corrugated  gets 
canned. ' ' 

"Please    omit    meaningless    jargon,"    says 


8  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Aunty.  "Does  my  niece  know  just  how  humble 
a  position  you  occupy?  Have  you  ever  told 
her?" 

"Why,"  says  I,  "I  don't  know  as  I've  ever 
gone  into  details." 

"Ah-h-h!"  says  she.  "I  was  certain  that 
Verona  did  not  fully  realize.  Perhaps  it  would 

be  as  well  that  she "  and  here  she  breaks 

off  sudden,  like  she'd  been  struck  with  a  new 
idea.  For  a  second  or  so  she  gazes  blank  over 
the  top  of  my  head,  and  then  she  comes  to  with 
a  brisk,  ' '  That  will  do,  young  man !  Verona  is 
not  at  home.  You  need  not  trouble  to  call 
again.  The  maid  will  show  you  out.  Celeste !" 

And  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  ridin'  down 
again  with  Cephas.  I'm  some  shunter  myself; 
but  I  dip  the  colors  to  Aunty:  she  does  it  so 
neat  and  sudden !  It  must  be  like  the  sensation 
of  havin'  a  flight  of  trick  stairs  fold  up  under 
you, — one  minute  you're  most  to  the  top,  the 
next  you're  pickin'  yourself  up  at  the  bottom. 

What  worries  me  most,  though,  is  this  hint 
she  drops  about  Vee.  Looks  like  the  old  girl 
had  something  up  her  sleeve;  but  what  it  is  I 
can't  dope  out.  So  all  I  can  do  is  keep  my  eyes 
open  and  my  ear  stretched  for  the  next  few 
days,  watchin'  for  something  to  happen. 

Course,  I  had  one  or  two  other  things  on  my 
mind  meanwhile;  for  down  at  the  gen'ral  offices 
we  wa'n't  indulgin'  in  any  spring-fever  symp- 


THE  UP  CALL  FOE  TOECHY          9^ 

toms, — not  with  three  big  deals  under  way,  all 
this  income  mess  of  deductin'  at  the  source 
goin'  on,  and  Mr.  Eobert's  grand  scheme  for 
dissolvin'  the  Corrugated — on  paper — bein' 
worked  out.  Oh,  sure,  that's  the  easiest  thing 
we  do.  We've  split  up  into  nineteen  sep'rate 
and  distinct  corporations,  with  a  diff  'rent  set  of 
directors  for  each  one,  and  if  the  Attorney 
General  can  sleuth  out  where  they're  tied  to- 
gether he's  got  to  do  some  high-class  snoopin* 
around. 

Maybe  you  think  too,  that  little  Sunny  Haired 
Hank,  guardin'  the  brass  gate,  ain't  wise  to 
every  move.  Say,  I  make  that  part  of  my  job. 
If  I  didn't,  I'd  be  towin'  a  grouchy  bunch  of 
minority  kickers  in  where  the  reorganization 
board  was  cookin'  up  a  new  stock-transfer 
game,  or  make  some  other  fool  break  that 
would  spill  the  beans  all  over  the  pantry 
floor. 

"Torchy,"  says  Mr.  Eobert,  chewin'  his  cigar 
nervous  and  pawin'  through  pigeonholes,  "ask 
Mr.  Piddie  what  was  done  with  those  Mesaba 
contracts. ' ' 

"Filed  under  Associated  Developments," 
says  I. 

"Oh,  yes,  so  they  were,"  says  he.  "Thanks. 
And  could  you  find  out  for  me  when  we  organ- 
ized General  Transportation?" 

"Wa'n't  that  pulled  off  the  day  you  waited 


10  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

for  that  Duluth  delegation  to  show  up,  just 
after  Easter?"  says  I. 

" That's  it,"  says  he,  "the  fifteenth!  Has 
Marling  of  Chicago  been  called  up  yet!" 

"Nope,"  says  I.  "He'll  be  waitin'  for  the 
closing  quotations,  won't  he?  But  there's  that 
four-eyed  guy  with  the  whiskers  who's  been 
hangin'  around  a  couple  of  hours." 

"Ah!"  says  Mr.  Robert,  huntin'  out  a  card 
on  his  desk.  "That  Rowley  person!  I'd  for- 
gotten. What  does  he  want?" 

"Didn't  say,"  says  I.  "Got  a  roll  of  some- 
thing under  one  arm — crank  promoter,  maybe. 
Will  I  ditch  him?" 

"Not  without  being  heard,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
"I  haven't  time  myself,  though.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Piddie  might  interview  him  and " 

"Ah,  Piddie!"  says  I.  "He'd  take  one  look 
at  the  old  gink's  round  cuffs  and  turn  him  down 
haughty.  You  know  Piddie?" 

Mr.  Robert  smiles.  "Then  suppose  you  do 
it,"  says  he.  "Go  ahead — full  powers.  Only 
remember  this :  My  policy  is  to  give  everyone 
who  has  a  proposition  to  submit  to  the  Corru- 
gated a  respectful  and  adequate  hearing.  Get 
the  idea?" 

"I'm  right  behind  you,"  says  I.  "The 
smooth  stuff  goes;  and  if  we  must  spill  'em, 
grease 'the  skids.  Me  for  Rowley!" 

And,  say,  you  should  have  heard  me  shove 


THE  UP  CALL  FOE  TORCHY        11 

over  the  diplomacy,  tellin'  how  sorry  Mr.  Rob- 
ert was  he  couldn't  see  him  in  person;  but 
wouldn't  he  please  state  the  case  in  full  so  no 
time  might  be  lost  in  actin'  one  way  or  the 
other?  Inside  of  three  minutes  too,  he  has  his, 
papers  spread  out  and  is  explainin'  his  by- 
product scheme  for  mill  tailings,  with  me  busy 
takin'  notes  on  a  pad.  He  had  it  all  figured 
out  into  big  money;  but  of  course  I  couldn't 
tell  whether  he  had  a  sure  thing,  or  was  just 
exercisin'  squirrels  in  the  connin'  tower. 

"Ten  millions  a  year,"  says  he,  "and  I  am 
offering  to  put  this  process  in  operation  for  a 
five-per-cent.  royalty!  I've  been  a  mine  super- 
intendent for  twenty  years,  young  man,  and  I 
know  what  I'm  talking  about." 

"Your  spiel  listens  like  the  real  thing,  Mr. 
Rowley,"  says  I;  "only  we  can't  jump  at  these 
things  offhand.  We  have  to  chew  'em  over, 
you  know." 

Rowley  shakes  his  head  decided.  "You  can't 
put  me  off  for  six  months  or  a  year,"  says  he. 
"I've  been  through  all  that.  If  the  Corru- 
gated doesn't  want  to  go  into  this " 

"Right  you  are!"  I  breaks  in.  "Ten  days 
is  enough.  I'll  put  this  up  to  the  board  next 
Wednesday  week  and  get  a  decision.  Much 
obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Rowley,  for  givin'  us  first 
whack  at  it.  We  're  out  for  anything  that  looks 
good,  and  we  always  take  care  of  the  parties 


12  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

that  put  us  next.  That's  the  Corrugated  way. 
Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Rowley.  Drop  in  again. 
Here 's  your  hat. ' ' 

And  as  he  drifts  out,  smilin',  pleased  and 
hopeful,  I  glances  over  the  spring-water  bottle, 
to  see  Mr.  Robert  standin'  there  listenin'  with 
.a  grin  on. 

"Congratulations!"  says  he.  "That  perora- 
tion of  yours  was  a  classic,  Torchy;  the 
true  Chesterfield  spirit,  if  not  the  form. 
I  am  tempted  to  utilize  your  talent  for 
that  sort  of  thing  once  more.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"Then  put  it  over  the  plate  while  I'm  on  my 
battin'  streak,"  says  I.  "Who's  next?" 

"A  lady  this  time,"  says  he;  "perchance  two 
ladies."  And  he  develops  that  eye  twinkle  of 
his. 

"Huh!"  says  I,  twistin'  my  neck  and  feelin* 
of  my  tie.  "You  ain't  springin'  any  tea-pourin' 
stunt,  are  you?" 

"Strictly  business,"  says  he;  "at  least,"  he 
adds,  chucklin',  "that  is  the  presumption.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  I've  just  been  called  over  the 
'phone  by  Miss  Verona  Hemmingway's  aunt." 

"Eh?"  says  I,  gawpin'. 

'  *  She  holds  some  of  our  debenture  bonds,  you 
know,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  "and  I  gather  that 
she  has  been  somewhat  disturbed  by  these  re- 
organization rumors." 


THE  UP  CALL  FOE  TORCHY        13 

"But  she  ought  to  know,"  says  I,  "that  our 
D.B.'s.  are  as  solid  as " 

"The  feminine  mind,"  cuts  in  Mr.  Eobert, 
"does  not  readily  grasp  such  simple  facts.  But 
I  haven't  half  an  hour  or  more  to  devote  to  the 
process  of  soothing  her  alarm;  besides,  you 
could  do  it  so  much  more  gracefully." 

"Mooshwaw!"  says  I.  "Maybe  I  could. 
But  she's  only  one.  Who's  the  other?" 

"She  failed  to  state,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
"She  merely  said,  'We  shall  be  down  about 
three  o'clock.'  " 

"We?"  says  I.  Then  I  whistles.  So  that 
was  her  game!  It  was  Vee  she  was  bringin' 
along ! 

"Well?"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

I  expect  I  was  some  pinked  up,  and  fussed, 
too,  at  the  prospect.  "Excuse  me,"  says  I, 
"but  I  got  to  sidestep." 

"Why,"  says  he,  "I  rather  thought  this  as- 
signment might  be  somewhat  agreeable." 

' '  I  know, ' '  says  I.  '  *  You  mean  well  enough ; 
but,  honest,  Mr.  Robert,  if  that  foxy  old  dame 's 
comin'  down  here  with  Miss  Vee,  I'm — well, 
I  don't  stand  for  it,  that's  all!  I'm  off; 
with  a  blue  ticket  or  without  one,  just  as  you 
say. ' ' 

I  was  reachin'  for  my  new  lid  too,  when  Mr. 
Eobert  puts  out  his  hand. 

"Wouldn't    that   be — er — rather    a    serious 


14  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

breach  of  office  discipline?"  says  he.  " Surely, 
without  some  good  reason " 

"Ah,  say!"  says  I.  "You  don't  think  I'm 
springing  any  prima  donna  whim,  do  you?  It's 
this  plot  to  show  me  up  through  the  wrong  end 
of  the  telescope  that  gets  me  sore. ' ' 

"Scarcely  lucid,"  says  he,  lookin'  puzzled. 
"Could  you  put  it  a  little  simpler?" 

"I'll  make  it  long  primer,"  says  I.  "How  do 
I  stand  here  in  the  Corrugated?  You  know, 
maybe,  and  sometimes  I  give  a  guess  myself; 
but  on  the  books,  and  as  far  as  outsiders  go,  I'm 
just  plain  office  boy,  ain't  I,  like  'steen  thou- 
sand other  four-dollar-a-week  kids  that's  old 
enough  to  have  work  papers?  I've  been  here 
goin'  on  four  years  now,  and  I  ain't  beefed 
much  about  it,  have  I?  That's  because  I've 
been  used  white  and  the  pay  has  been  decent. 
Also  I'm  strong  for  you  and  Mr.  Ellins.  I 
expect  you  know  that,  Mr.  Robert.  Maybe  I 
ain't  got  it  in  me  to  be  anything  but  an  office 
boy,  either;  but  when  it  comes  to  goin'  on 
exhibition  before  certain  parties  as  the 
double  cipher  on  the  east  side  of  the  deci- 
mal—well, that's  where  I  make  my  foolish 
play." 

"Ah!"  says  he,  rubbin'  his  chin  thoughtful. 
"Now  I  fully  understand.  And,  as  you  sug- 
gest, there  has  been  for  some  time  past  some- 
thing— er — equivocal  about  your  position  here. 


THE  UP  CALL  FOR  TORCHY        15* 

However,  just  at  this  moment  I  have  hardly 

time  to By  Jove!"    Here  he  breaks  off 

and  glances  at  the  clock.  "Two-fifteen,  and  a 
general  council  of  our  attorneys  called  for  half- 
past  in  the  directors '  room !  Someone  else  must 
attend  to  Miss  Verona's  estimable  aunt — posi- 
tively! Now  if  there  was  anyone  who  could 
relieve  you  from  the  gate " 

"Heiny,  the  bondroom  boy,"  says  I. 

"Why  not?"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Then,  if 
you  should  choose  to  stay  and  prime  yourself 
with  facts  about  those  debentures,  there  is  that 
extra  desk  in  my  office,  you  know.  Would  you 
mind  using  that?" 

i  l  But  see  here,  Mr.  Robert, ' '  says  I,  "  I  wa  'n  't 
plannin'  any  masquerade,  either." 

"Quite  so,"  says  he;  "nor  I.  It  so  happens, 
though,  that  the  gentleman  whose  name  appears 
as  president  of  our  Mutual  Funding  Company 
is — well,  hardly  in  active  business  life.  It  is 
necessary  that  he  be  represented  here  in  some 
nominal  capacity.  The  directors  are  now  meet- 
ing in  Room  19.  I  have  authority  to  name  a 
private  secretary  pro  tern.  Do  you  accept  the/ 
position?" 

"With  a  pro-tern,  salary,  stage  money 
barred?"  says  I. 

"Oh,  most  certainly,"  says  he. 

"Then  I'm  the  guy,"  says  L 

"Good!"  says  Mr.  Robert.     "These  deben.' 


16  TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

tures  come  in  your  department.  I  will  notify 
Mr.  Piddie  that " 

"Say,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  grinnin'  once 
more,  "I'd  break  it  gentle  to  Piddie." 

I  don't  know  whether  he  did  or  not;  for  five 
minutes  after  that  Heiny  has  my  old  seat,  and 
I'm  inside  behind  the  ground-glass  door,  sittin' 
at  a  reg'lar  roll-top,  with  a  lot  of  file  cases 
spread  out,  puzzlin'  over  this  incorporation 
junk  that  makes  the  Fundin'  Comp'ny  the  little 
joker  in  the  Corrugated  deck. 

And  next  thing  I  know  in  comes  Henry, 
gawpin'  foolish,  and  trailin'  behind  him  Aunty 
and  Vee.  I  wa'n't  throwin'  any  bluff  about 
tryin'  to  look  busy,  either.  I  was  elbow-deep  in 
papers,  with  a  pen  behind  one  ear  and  ink  on 
three  fingers. 

You  should  have  heard  the  gasp  that  comes 
from  Aunty  as  she  pipes  off  who  it  is  at  the 
desk.  My  surprise  as  I'm  discovered  is  the  real 
thing  too. 

"Chairs,  Boy!"  says  I,  snappin'  my  fingers 
at  Heiny. 

But  Aunty  catches  her  breath,  draws  herself 
up  stiff,  and  waves  away  the  seats.  "Young 
man,"  says  she,  "I  came  here  to  consult  with 
Mr.  Robert  Ellin s  about " 

"Yes'm,"  says  I,  "I  understand.  Debenture 
six's,  ain't  they?  Not  affected  by  the  re- 
organization, Ma'am.  You  see,  it's  like 


THE  UP  CALL  FOR  TORCHY        17 

this:  Those  b'onds  were  issued  in  exchange 
for " 

11  Young  man,"  she  breaks  in,  aimin'  her  lor- 
gnette at  me  threatening  "I  prefer  to  discuss 
this  matter  with  Mr.  Robert." 

" Sorry,"  says  I,  "but  as  he's  very  busy  he 
asked  me  to " 

"And  who,  pray,"  snaps  the  old  girl,  "are 
you?" 

"Representin'  the  president  of  the  Mutual 
Funding  Comp'ny,"  says  I. 

"Just  how!"  she  demands. 

"Private  secretary,  Ma'am,"  says  I. 

"Humph!"  she  snorts.  "This  is  too  ab- 
surd of  Mr.  Robert — wholly  absurd!  Come, 
Verona. ' ' 

And  as  she  sails  out  I  just  has  time  for  a 
glance  at  Vee,  and  catches  a  wink.  Believe  me, 
though,  a  friendly  wink  from  one  of  them  gray 
eyes  is  worth  waitin'  for!  She  follows  Aunty 
through  the  door  with  a  handkerchief  stuffed 
in  her  mouth  like  she  was  smotherin'  a  snicker; 
so  I  guess  Vee  was  on.  And  I'm  left  feelin'  all 
warmed  up  and  chirky. 

Mr.  Robert  comes  in  from  his  lawyer  session 
just  before  closin'  time;  rubbin'  his  hands  sort 
of  satisfied  too. 

"Well,"  says  I,  jumpin'  up  from  the  swing- 
chair,  "it  was  some  jolt  you  slipped  Aunty.  I 
expect  I  can  resign  now?" 


18  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Oh,  I  trust  not,"  says  he.  "The  board  in- 
dorsed your  appointment  an  hour  ago.  Keep 
your  desk,  Torchy.  It  is  to  be  yours  from 
now  on." 

' '  Wh-a-a-at  f ' '  says  I,  my  eyes  bugged.  ' '  Off 
the  gate  for  good,  am  I?" 

"We  are  hoping,"  says  he,  "that  the  gate's 
loss  will  be  the  Funding  Company's  gain." 

I  gurgles  gaspy  a  couple  of  times  before  I 
catches  my  breath.  "Will  it?"  says  I.  "Say, 
just  watch  me!  I'm  goin'  to  show  you  that 
fundin'  is  my  long  suit!" 


CHAPTEE  II 

TOUCHY   MAKES   THE   SIR   CLASS 

SAY,  it's  all  right,  gettin'  the  quick  boost  up 
the  ladder,  providin'  you  don't  let  it  make  you 
dizzy  in  the  head.  And,  believe  me,  I  was  near 
it!  You  see,  bein'  jumped  from  office  boy  to 
private  sec,  all  in  one  afternoon,  was  some 
breath-takin'  yank. 

I  expect  the  full  force  of  what  had  happened 
didn't  hit  me  until  here  the  other  mornin'  when 
I  strolls  into  the  Corrugated  gen'ral  offices  on 
the  new  nine  o  'clock  schedule  and  finds  this  raw 
recruit  holdin'  down  my  old  chair  behind  the 
rail.  Nice,  smooth-haired,  bright-eyed  young- 
ster, with  his  ears  all  scoured  out  pink  and  his 
knickerbocker  suit  brushed  neat.  He  hops  up 
and  opens  the  gate  real  respectful  for  me. 

''Well,  Son,"  says  I,  "what  does  Mother  call 
you?" 

"Vincent,  Sir,"  says  he. 

"Some  class  to  that,  too,"  says  I.  "But  how 
do  you  know,  Vincent,  that  I'm  one  of  the  reg'- 
lar  staff  and  not  canvassin'  for  something?" 

"I  don't,  Sir,"  says  he,  "until  I  see  if  you 
know  where  to  hang  your  hat." 

19 


20  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Good  domework,  Vincent,"  says  I.  "On 
that  I'm  backin'  you  to  hold  the  job." 

"Thank  you,  Sir,"  says  he.  "I  told  Mother 
I'd  do  my  best." 

And  with  that  he  springs  a  bashful  smile. 
It  was  the  "Sir"  every  time  that  caught  me, 
though.  For  more'n  four  years  I'd  been  just 
Torchy  or  Boy  to  all  hands  in  the  shop,  from 
Old  Hickory  down;  and  now  all  of  a  sudden  I 
finds  there's  one  party  at  least  that  rates  me 
in  the  Sir  class.  Kind  of  braced  me  for 
swingin'  past  all  that  row  of  giggly  lady  typists 
and  on  into  Mr.  Robert's  private  office. 

Thrill  No.  2  arrived  half  an  hour  later.  In 
postin'  myself  as  to  what  this  Mutual  Fundin' 
Company  really  is  that  I'm  supposed  to  be 
workin'  for,  I  needed  some  papers  from  the 
document  safe.  And  for  the  first  time  I  pushes 
the  buzzer  button.  Prompt  and  eager  in  comes 
Vincent,  the  fair  haired. 

"Know  which  is  Mr.  Piddie,  do  you?"  says  I. 

"Oh,  yes,  Sir,"  says  he. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "tell  him  I  need  those — no, 
better  ask  him  to  step  in  here  a  minute." 

Honest,  I  wa'n't  plannin'  to  rub  it  in,  either. 
Course,  I'd  done  a  good  deal  of  trottin'  for 
Piddie,  and  a  lot  of  it  wa'n't  for  anything  else 
than  to  let  him  show  his  authority;  but  I  didn't 
hold  any  grudge.  I'd  squared  the  account  in 
my  own  way.  How  he  was  goin'  to  take  it  now 


TOECHY  MAKES  THE  SIR  CLASS     21 

I  was  the  one  to  send  for  him,  I  didn't  know; 
but  there  wa'n't  any  use  dodgin'  the  issue. 

And  you  should  have  seen  Piddie  make  his 
first  official  entrance !  You  know  how  stiff  and 
wooden  he  is  as  a  rule  ?  Well,  as  he  marches  in 
over  the  rug  and  comes  to  a  parade  rest  by 
the  desk,  he's  about  as  limber  as  a  length  of 
gas  pipe.  And  solemn!  That  long  face  of  his 
would  have  soured  condensed  milk! 

"Yes,  Sir?"  says  he.  And  to  me,  mind  you! 
It  come  out  a  little  husky,  like  it  was  bein'  fil- 
tered through  strong  emotions;  but  there  it  is. 
Piddie  has  sirred  me  his  first  * '  Sir. ' ' 

He  knows  a  roll-top  when  he  sees  one,  Piddie 
does,  and  he  ain't  omittin'  any  deference  due. 
You  know  the  type?  He's  one  of  the  kind  that 
was  born  to  be  "our  Mr.  Piddie";  the  sort  that 
takes  off  his  hat  to  a  vice-president,  and  holds 
his  breath  in  the  presence  of  the  big  wheeze. 
But,  say,  I  don't  want  any  joss-sticks  burned 
for  me. 

"Ditch  it,  Piddie,"  says  I,  "ditch  it!" 

"I — er — I  beg  pardon?"  says  he. 

"The  Sir  stuff,"  says  I.  "Just  because  I'm 
behind  the  ground  glass  instead  of  the  brass 
rail  don't  make  me  a  sacred  being,  or  you  a 
lobbygow,  does  it?  I  guess  we've  known  each 
other  too  long  for  that,  eh?"  And  I  holds  out 
the  friendly  mitt. 

Honest,  he's  got  a  human  streak  in  him, 


22  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Piddle  has,  if  you  know  where  to  strike  it.  The 
cast-iron  effect  comes  out  of  his  shoulders,  the 
wooden  look  from  his  face.  He  almost  smiles. 

" Thank  you,  Torchy,"  says  he.  "I — er — my 
congratulations  on  your  new " 

"We'll  spread  'em  on  the  minutes,"  says  I, 
"and  proceed  to  show  the  Corrugated  some 
teamwork  that  mere  salaries  can't  buy.  Are 
you  on?" 

He  was.  Inside  of  three  minutes  he'd 
chucked  that  stiff-necked,  flunky  pose  and  was 
coachin'  me  like  a  big  brother,  and  by  the  time 
he'd  beat  into  my  head  all  he  knew  about  the 
Fundin'  Comp'ny  we  was  as  chummy  as  two 
survivors  of  the  same  steamer  wreck.  Simple, 
I  know ;  but  this  little  experience  made  me  feel 
like  I'd  signed  a  gen'ral  peace  treaty  with  the 
world  at  large. 

I  hadn't,  though.  An  hour  later  I  runs  up 
against  Willis  G.  Briscoe.  He 's  kind  of  an  out- 
side development  manager,  who  makes  prelim- 
inary reports  on  new  deals.  One  of  these  cold- 
eyed,  chesty  parties,  Willis  G.  is ;  tall  and  thin, 
and  with  a  big,  bowwow  voice  that  has  a  rasp 
to  it. 

"Huh!"  says  he,  as  he  discovers  me  busy  at 
the  desk.  * '  I  heard  of  this  out  in  Chicago  three 
days  ago;  but  I  thought  it  must  be  a  joke." 

"Them  reporters  do  get  things  straight  now 
and  then,  don't  they?"  says  I. 


TORCHY  MAKES  THE  SIR  CLASS    23 

" Reporters!"  lie  snorts.  "Philip  wrote  me 
about  it." 

<  <  Oh ! "  says  I.    ' « Cousin  Philip,  eh  r ' 

And  that  gave  me  the  whole  plot  of  the 
piece.  Cousin  Phil  was  a  cigarette-consumin' 
college  discard  that  "Willis  G.  had  been 
nursin'  along  in  the  bondroom,  waitin'  for 
a  better  openin';  and  this  jump  of  mine  had 
filled  a  snap  job  that  he'd  had  his  eyes  on  for 
Cousin. 

"I  suppose  you're  only  temporary,  though," 
says  he. 

"That's  all,"  says  I.  "Mr.  Ellins  will  be 
resignin'  in  eight  or  ten  years,  I  expect,  and 
then  they'll  want  me  in  his  chair.  Nice  morn- 
in»,  ain't  it!" 

"Bah!"  says  he,  registerin'  deep  disgust,  as 
they  say  in  the  movie  scripts.  "You'll  do  well 
if  you  last  eight  or  ten  days." 

"How  cheerin'!"  says  I,  and  as  he  swings 
off  with  a  final  glare  I  tips  him  the  humorous 
wink. 

Why  not?  No  young-man-afraid-of-his-job 
part  for  me !  Briscoe  might  get  it  away  from 
me,  or  he  might  not;  but  I  wa'n't  goin'  to  get 
panicky  over  it.  Let  him  do  his  worst  I 

He  didn't  need  any  urgin'.  "With  a  little 
scoutin'  around  he  discovers  that  about  the 
only  assignment  on  my  hook  so  far  is  this 
Rowley  matter :  you  know,  the  old  inventor  guy 


24  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

with  the  mill-tailings  scheme.  And  the  first 
hint  I  had  that  he  was  wise  to  that  was  when 
Mr.  Robert  calls  me  over  after  lunch  and  ex- 
plains how  this  Rowley  business  sort  of  comes 
in  Mr.  Briscoe  's  department. 

"So  I  suppose  you'd  better  turn  it  over  to 
him,"  says  he. 

"Just  as  you  say,"  says  I.  "The  old  gent  is 
due  at  two-fifteen,  and  I'll  shunt  him  onto 
Briscoe." 

Which  I  did.  And  at  two-thirty-five  Briscoe 
breezes  in  with  his  report. 

"Nothing  to  it,"  says  he.  "This  Rowley 
person  has  a  lot  of  half-baked  ideas  about 
briquets  and  retort  recoveries,  and  talks 
vaguely  of  big  profits;  but  he's  got  nothing 
practical.  I  shipped  him  off. ' ' 

"But,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  "I  think  he  was 
promised  that  his  schemes  should  have  a  con- 
sideration by  the  board. ' ' 

"Very  well,"  says  Willis  G.  jaunty.  "I'll 
give  'em  a  report  next  meeting.  Wednesday, 
isn't  it?  Hardly  worth  wasting  their  time  over, 
though. ' ' 

And  here  I'd  been  boostin'  the  Rowley  propo- 
sition to  Mr.  Robert  good  and  hard,  almost 
gettin'  him  enthusiastic  over  it !  I  was  smeared, 
that's  all!  My  first  stab  at  makin'  myself  use- 
ful in  my  new  swing-chair  job  has  been  brushed 
aside  as  a  beginner's  bungle;  and  there  sits 


TORCHY  MAKES  THE  SIR  CLASS     25^ 

Mr.  Robert,  prob'ly  wonderin'  if  he  hadn't 
made  a  mistake  in  takin'  me  off  the  gate ! 

I  stares  at  a  row  of  empty  pigeonholes  for  a 
solid  hour  after  that,  not  doin'  a  blamed  thing 
but  race  my  thinkin'  gears  tryin'  to  find  out 
where  I  was  at.  This  dummy  act  that  I'd  been 
let  in  for  might  be  all  right  for  some;  but  it 
didn't  suit  me.  I've  got  to  have  action  in  mine. 

So,  long  before  quittin'  time,  I  slams  the  desk 
cover  down  and  pikes  out  on  Rowley's  trail. 
He  might  be  a  dead  duck ;  but  I  wanted  to  know 
how  and  why.  I  had  his  address  all  right,  and 
it  didn't  take  me  long  to  locate  him  in  a  fifth- 
story  loft  down  on  lower  Sixth-ave.  It's 
an  odd  joint  too,  with  a  cot  bed  in  one  corner, 
a  work  bench  along  the  avenue  side,  a  cook- 
stove  in  the  middle,  and  a  kitchen  table  where 
the  coffeepot  was  crowded  on  each  side  by  a 
rack  of  test  tubes.  Old  Rowley  himself,  with 
his  sleeves  rolled  up,  is  sittin'  in  a  rickety  arm 
chair  peelin'  potatoes.  He's  grouchy  too. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  says  he.  "Well,  you 
might  just  as  well  trot  right  back  to  the  Cor- 
rugated Trust  and  tell  'em  that  Old  Hen  Row- 
ley don't  give  two  hoots  for  their  whole  outfit." 

"I  take  it  you  didn't  get  on  so  well  with  Mr. 
Briscoe?"  says  I. 

"Briscoe!"  he  grunts  savage.  "Who  could 
talk  business  to  a  smart  Alec  like  that?  He 
knew  it  all  before  I'd  begun.  You'd  think  I 


26  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

was  trying  to  sell  him  a  gold  brick.  All  right ! 
We'll  see  what  the  Bethlehem  people  have  to 
say. ' ' 

"What?"  says  I.  "Before  you  get  the  final 
word  from  us  ? " 

"I've  had  it,"  says  he.  "Briscoe  is  final 
enough  for  me." 

"You're  easy  satisfied,"  says  I,  "or  else 
you're  easy  beat.  I  didn't  take  you  for  a  quit- 
ter, either." 

Say,  that  got  to  him.  "Quitter,  eh !"  says  he. 
"See  here,  Son,  how  long  do  you  think  I've  been 
plugging  at  this  thing?  Nine  years.  And  for 
the  last  four  I've  been  giving  it  all  my  time, 
day  in  and  day  out,  and  many  a  night  as  well. 
I've  been  living  with  it,  in  this  loft  here,  like 
a  blessed  hermit ;  testing  and  perfecting,  trying 
out  my  processes,  and  fighting  the  Patent  Of- 
fice sharks  between  times.  Nine  years — the 
best  of  my  life !  Call  that  quitting,  do  you?" 

"Well,  that  is  sticking  around  some,"  says  I. 
"Think  you've  got  your  schemes  so  they'll 
work?" 

"I  don't  think,"  says  he;  "I  know." 

"But  what's  the  good,"  I  goes  on,  "if  you 
can't  make  other  folks  see  you've  got  a  good 
thing?" 

"I  can,  though,"  he  says.  "Why,  any  per- 
son with  even  ordinary  intelligence  can " 

"That's  me,"  says  I.    "My  nut  is  just  about 


TOECHY  MAKES  THE  SIR  CLASS    27 

a  stock  pattern  size,  six  and  seven-eighths,  or 
maybe  seven.  Come,  try  it  on  me,  if  it's  so 
simple.  Now  what  about  this  retort  business?" 

That  got  him  goin'.  Rowley  drops  the  pota- 
toes, and  in  another  minute  we're  neck-deep  in 
the  science  of  makin'  an  ore  puddin',  doin' 
stunts  with  the  steam,  skimmin'  dividends  off 
the  pot,  and  coinin'  the  slag  into  dollars. 

I  ain't  lettin'  him  slip  over  any  gen'ral 
propositions  on  me,  either.  I'm  right  there 
with  the  Missouri  stuff.  He  has  to  go  clear 
back  to  first  principles  every  time  he  makes  a 
statement,  and  work  up  to  it  gradual.  Course, 
I  was  keep  in'  him  jollied  along  too,  and  while 
it  must  have  been  sort  of  hopeless  at  the  start, 
inoculatin'  a  cauliflower  like  mine  with  higher 
chemistry,  I  fin'lly  showed  one  or  two  gleams 
that  encouraged  him  to  keep  on.  Anyway,  we 
hammered  away  at  the  subject,  only  stoppin' 
to  make  coffee  and  sandwiches,  until  near  two 
o'clock  in  the  mornin'. 

"Help!"  says  I,  glancin'  at  the  nickel  alarm 
clock.  "My  head  feels  like  a  stuffed  sausage. 
A  little  more,  and  I  won't  know  whether  I'm 
a  nitrous  sulphide  or  a  ferrous  oxide  of  bromo 
seltzer.  Let's  take  the  rest  in  another 
dose." 

Rowley  chuckles  and  agrees  to  call  it  a  day. 
I  didn't  let  on  anything  at  the  office  next  morn- 
ing ;  but  by  eight  A.M.  I  was  planted  at  the  roll- 


28  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

top  with  my  elbows  squared,  tryin'  to  write  out 
as  much  of  that  chemistry  dope  as  I  could  re- 
member. And  it's  surprising  ain't  it,  what  a 
lot  of  information  you  can  sop  up  when  you 
do  the  sponge  act  in  earnest?  I  found  there 
was  a  lot  of  points,  though,  that  I  was  foggy 
on;  so  I  makes  an  early  getaway  and  puts  in 
another  long  session  with  Rowley. 

And,  take  it  from  me,  by  Tuesday  I  was  well 
loaded.  Also  I  had  my  plan  of  campaign  all 
mapped  out;  for  you  mustn't  get  the  idea  I 
was  packin'  my  bean  full  of  all  this  science 
dope  just  to  see  if  it  would  stand  the  strain. 
Not  so,  Clarice !  I  'd  woke  up  to  the  fact  that 
I  was  bein'  carried  along  by  the  Corrugated  as 
a  sort  of  misfit  inner  tube  stowed  in  the  bottom 
of  the  tool-box,  and  that  it  was  up  to  me  to 
make  good. 

So  the  first  openin'  I  has  I  tackles  Mr.  Rob- 
ert on  the  side. 

" About  that  Rowley  proposition?"  says  I. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  he.  "I  fear  Mr.  Briscoe 
thinks  unfavorably  of  it." 

"Then  he's  fruity  in  the  pan,"  says  I. 

"We  have  been  in  the  habit  of  accepting 
his  judgment  in  such  matters,"  says  Mr. 
Robert. 

"Maybe,"  says  I;  "but  here's  once  when 
he's  handin'  you  a  stall.  And  you're  missin' 
out  on  something  good  too." 


Mr.  Robert  smiles  skeptical.  "Really?"  says 
he.  "Perhaps  you  would  like  to  present  a  mi- 
nority report?" 

"Nothin'  less,"  says  I.  "Oh,  it  may  listen 
like  a  joke,  but  that's  just  what  I  got  in 
mind." 

* '  H-m-m-m ! ' '  says  Mr.  Robert.  ' '  You  realize 
that  Briscoe  is  one  of  the  leading  mining  au- 
thorities in  the  country,  I  suppose,  and  that 
we  pay  him  a  large  salary  as  consulting  en- 
gineer ? ' ' 

I  nods.  ' '  I  know, ' '  says  I.  *  *  And  the  nearest 
I  ever  got  to  seein'  a  mine  was  watchin'  'em 
excavate  for  the  subway.  I'm  admittin'  all 
that." 

* '  I  may  add  too, ' '  goes  on  Mr.  Robert,  ' '  that 
he  has  a  way x  of  stating  his  opinions  quite  con- 
vincingly. ' ' 

"Yep,"  says  I,  "I  should  judge  that.  But 
if  I  think  he's  bilkin'  you  on  this,  is  it  my  play 
to  sit  behind  and  chew  my  tongue?" 

"By  Jove!"  says  Mr.  Robert,  his  sportin' 
instincts  comin'  to  the  top.  "You  shall  have 
your  chance,  Torchy.  The  directors  shall  hear 
your  views ;  to-morrow,  at  two-thirty.  You  will 
follow  Briscoe." 

"Let's  not  bill  it  ahead,  then,"  says  I,  "if 
it'll  be  fair  to  spring  it  on  him." 

' '  Quite, ' '  says  Mr.  Robert ;  '  *  and  rather  more 
amusing,  I  fancy.  I  will  arrange  it." 


30  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"I'd  like  to  have  old  Rowley  on  the  side 
lines,  in  case  I  get  stuck, ' '  says  I. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  says  he.  "Bring  Mr.  Row- 
ley if  you  wish.  And  if  there  are  any  prepara- 
tions you  would  like  to  make " 

"I  got  one  or  two,"  says  I,  startin'  for  the 
door;  "so  mark  me  off  until  about  to-morrow 
noon." 

Busy?  Well,  say,  a  kitten  with  four  feet 
stuck  in  the  flypaper  didn't  have  anything  on 
me.  I  streaks  it  for  Sixth-ave.  and  lands  in 
Rowley's  loft  all  out  of  breath. 

"What's  up?"  says  he. 

' '  The  case  of  Briscoe  et  al.  vs.  Rowley, ' '  says 
I.  "It 's  to  be  threshed  out  before  the  full  Cor- 
rugated board  to-morrow  at  two-thirty.  I'm 
the  counsel  for  the  defense." 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  says  he. 

"I  want  to  use  you  as  Exhibit  A,"  says  I, 
"in  case  of  an  emergency." 

"All  right,"  says  he.  "I'll  go  along  if  you 
say  so." 

"Good!"  says  I.  And  then  came  the  hard 
part.  "Rowley,"  I  goes  on,  "what  size  collar 
do  you  wear?" 

"But  what  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  says  he. 

"Now  don't  get  peeved,."  says  I;  "but  you 
know  the  kind  our  directors  are, — flossy,  silk- 
lined  old  sports,  most  of  'em;  and  they're  apt 
to  size  up  strangers  a  good  deal  by  their  haber- 


TORCHY  MAKES  THE  SIR  CLASS     31 

dashery.  So  I  was  wonderin'  if  I  couldn't  blow 
you  to  a  neat,  pleated  bosom  effect  with  at- 
tached cuffs." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  says  Rowley,  glancin'  at  his 
gray  flannel  workin'  shirt.  "Anything 
else!" 

"I  don't  expect  you'd  want  to  part  with  that 
face  shrubbery,  or  have  it  landscaped  into  a 
Vandyke,  eh  I"  says  I.  "You  know  they  ain't 
wearin'  the  bushy  kind  now  in  supertax  cir- 
cles. ' ' 

"Would  you  insist  on  my  being  manicured 
too!"  says  he,  chucklin'  easy. 

"It  would  help,"  says  I.  "And  this  would 
be  my  buy  all  round." 

"That's  a  generous  offer,  Son,"  says  he, 
"and  I  don't  know  how  long  it's  been  since 
anyone  has  taken  so  much  personal  interest  in 
Old  Hen  Rowley.  Seems  nice  too.  I  suppose 
I  am  rather  a  shabby  old  duffer  to  be  visiting 
the  offices  of  great  and  good  corporations.  Yes, 
I'll  spruce  up  a  bit;  and  if  I  find  it  costs  more 
than  I  can  afford — now  let's  see  how  my  cash 
stands." 

With  that  he  digs  into  a  hip  pocket  and  un- 
limbers  a  roll  of  corn-tinted  kale  the  size  of 
your  wrist.  Maybe  they  wa'n't  all  hundreds 
clear  to  the  core,  but  that's  what  was  on  the 
outside. 

"Whiffo!"  says  I.    "Excuse  me  for  classin' 


32  TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

you  so  near  the  bread  line ;  but  by  your  campin' 
in  a  loft,  and  the  longshoreman's  shirt,  and  so 
on " 

"Very  natural,  Son,"  he  breaks  in.  "And  I 
see  your  point  all  the  clearer.  I've  no  busi- 
ness going  about  so.  The  whiskers  shall  be 
trimmed.  But  your  people  up  at  the  Corru- 
gated have  evidently  made  up  their  minds  to 
turn  us  down. ' ' 

"Maybe,"  says  I;  "but  if  they  do,  it  won't 
be  on  any  snap  decision  of  Briscoe's.  And 
unless  I  get  tongue  tied  at  the  last  minute  we  're 
goin'  to  have  a  run  for  our  money." 

That  was  what  worried  me  most, — could  I 
come  across  with  the  standin'  spiel?  But,  be- 
lieve me,  I  wa'n't  trustin'  to  any  offhand  stuff! 
I'd  got  to  know  in  advance  what  I  meant  to  feed 
'em,  line  for  line  and  word  for  word.  By  ten 
o'clock  that  night  I  had  it  all  down  on  paper 
too — and  perhaps  I  didn't  chew  the  penholder 
and  leak  some  from  the  brow  while  I  was 
doin'  it! 

Then  came  the  rehearsin'.  Say,  you  should 
have  seen  me  risin'  dignified  behind  the  wash- 
stand  in  my  room,  strikin'  a  Bill  Bryan  pose, 
and  smilin'  calm  at  the  bedposts  as  I  launched 
out  on  my  speech.  Not  that  I  was  tryin'  to 
chuck  any  flowers  of  oratory.  What  I  aimed 
to  do  was  to  tell  'em  about  Kowley's  schemes 
as  simple  and  straight  away  as  I  could,  usin* 


TORCHY  MAKES  THE  SIE  CLASS    33 

one-syllable  words  for  the  most  part,  cannin* 
the  slang,  and  soundin'  as  many  final  G's  as 
my  tongue  would  let  me.  Before  I  turned  in 
too,  I  had  it  almost  pat;  but  I  hardly  dared  to 
go  to  sleep  for  fear  it  would  get  away  from  me. 

Say,  but  it  ain't  any  cinch,  this  breakin'  into 
public  life,  is  it1?  The  obscure  guy  with  the 
dinner  pail  and  the  calloused  palms  thinks  he 
has  hard  lines;  but  when  the  whistle  blows  he 
can  wipe  his  trowel  on  his  overalls  and  forget 
it  all  until  next  day.  But  here  I  tosses  around 
restless  in  the  feathers,  and  am  up  at  daybreak, 
goin'  over  my  piece  again,  trembly  in  the 
knees,  with  a  vivid  mental  picture  of  how  cheap 
I'd  feel  if  I  should  go  to  pieces  when  the  time 
came. 

A  good  breakfast  pepped  me  up  a  lot, 
though,  and  by  noon  I  had  them  few  remarks 
of  mine  so  I  could  say  'em  backwards  or  for- 
wards. How  they  was  goin'  to  sound  outside 
of  my  room  was  another  matter.  I  had  my 
doubts  along  that  line;  but  I  was  goin'  to  give 
'em  the  best  I  had  in  stock. 

It  was  most  time  for  the  session  to  begin 
when  Vincent  boy  trots  in  with  a  card  an- 
nouncin'  Mr.  Henry  Clay  Rowley.  And,  say, 
when  this  smooth-faced  party  in  the  sporty 
Scotch  tweed  suit  and  the  new  model  pearl  gray 
lid  shows  up,  I  has  to  gasp!  He's  had  himself 
tailored  and  barbered  until  he  looks  like  an 


34  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

English  investor  come  over  huntin'  six  per 
cent,  dividends  for  a  Bank  of  England  surplus. 

"Zowie!"  says  I.  "Some  speed  to  you,  Mr. 
Rowley.  And  class?  Say,  you  look  like  you 
was  about  to  dump  a  trunkful  of  Steel  pre- 
ferred on  the  marke't,  instead  of  a  few  patents." 

"I'm  giving  your  advice  a  thorough  trial, 
you  see,"  says  he. 

"That's  the  stuff!"  says  I.  "It's  the  dolled 
up  gets  the  dollars  these  days.  Be  sure  and  sit 
where  they'll  get  a  good  view." 

Then  we  went  into  the  directors'  room  and 
heard  Willis  G.  Briscoe  deliver  his  knock.  He 
does  it  snappy  and  vigorous,  and  when  he's 
through  it  didn't  listen  like  anything  more 
could  be  said.  He  humps  his  eyebrows  humor- 
ous when  Mr.  Robert  announces  that  perhaps 
the  board  might  like  to  hear  another  view  of 
the  subject. 

"Torchy,"  goes  on  Mr.  Robert,  "you  have 
the  floor." 

For  a  second  or  so,  though,  I  felt  like 
spreadin'  out  so  I  wouldn't  slip  through  a 
crack.  All  of  a  sudden  too,  my  mouth  had  gone 
dry  and  I  had  a  panicky  notion  that  my  brain 
had  ossified.  Then  I  got  a  glimpse  of  them 
shrewd  blue  eyes  of  Rowley's  smilin'  encour- 
agin'  at  me,  the  first  few  sentences  of  my  speech 
filtered  back  through  the  bone,  I  got  my  tongue 
movin',  and  I  was  off. 


TOECHY  MAKES  THE  SIR  CLASS    35 

Funny  how  you  can  work  out  of  a  scare  that 
way,  ain't  it?  Why,  say,  the  first  thing  I  knew 
I'd  picked  out  old  D.  K.  Eutgers,  the  worst 
fish-face  in  the  bunch,  and  was  throwin'  the 
facts  into  him  like  I  was  shovelin'  coal  into  a 
cellar  chute.  Beginnin'  with  Eowley's  plan  for 
condensin'  commercial  acids  from  the  blast 
fumes,  explainin'  the  chemical  process  that 
produced  'em,  and  how  they  could  be  caught 
on  the  fly  and  canned  in  carboys  for  the  trade, 
I  galloped  through  the  whole  proposition, 
backin'  up  every  item  with  figures  and  for- 
mulas; until  I  showed  'em  how  the  slag  that 
now  cost  'em  so  much  to  get  rid  of  could  be 
sold  for  road  ballastin'  and  pressed  into 
buildin'  blocks  at  a  profit  of  twenty  dollars  a 
ton.  I  didn't  let  anything  go  just  by  statin7 
it  bald.  I  took  Briscoe's  objections  one  by  one, 
shot  'em  full  of  holes  with  the  come-backs  Eow- 
ley  had  coached  me  on,  and  then  proceeded  to 
clinch  the  argument  until  I  had  old  Eutgers 
noddin'  his  head. 

"And  these,  Gentlemen,"  I  winds  up  with, 
"are  what  Mr.  Briscoe  calls  the  vague,  half- 
baked  ideas  of  an  unpractical  inventor.  He's 
an  expert,  Mr.  Briscoe  is !  I'm  not.  I  wouldn't 
know  a  supersaturated  solution  of  methyl- 
calcites  from  a  stein  of  Hoboken  beer;  but  I'm 
willin '  to  believe  there 's  big  money  in  handling 
either,  providing  you  don't  spill  too  much  on 


36  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

the  inside.  Mr.  Rowley  claims  you're  throwing 
away  millions  a  year.  He  says  he  can  save  it 
for  you.  He  wants  to  show  you  how  you  can 
juggle  ore  so  you  can  save  everything  but  the 
smell.  He's  here  on  the  spot,  and  if  you  want 
to  quiz  him  about  details,  go  as  deep  as  you 
like." 

Did  they?  Say,  that  seance  didn't  break  up 
until  six-fifteen,  and  before  the  board  adjourns 
Rowley  had  a  whackin'  big  option  check  in  his 
fist,  and  a  resolution  had  gone  through  to  in- 
stall an  experiment  plan  as  soon  as  it  could  be 
put  up.  An  hour  before  that  Willis  G.  Briscoe 
had  done  the  silent  sneak,  wearin'  his  mouth 
droopy. 

Mr.  Robert  meets  me  outside  with  the  fra- 
ternal £rip  and  says  he's  proud  of  me. 

11  Thanks,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I.  "It  was  a 
case  of  framin'  up  a  job  for  myself,  or  else 
four-flushin'  along  until  you  tied  the  can  to 
me.  And  I  need  the  Corrugated  just  now." 

"No  more,  I'm  beginning  to  suspect,"  says 
he,  "than  the  Corrugated  needs  you." 

Which  was  some  happy  josh  for  an  amateur 
private  sec  to  get  from  the  boss!  Eh? 


CHAPTER  in 

TOBCHY   TAKES   A  CHANCE 

SAY,  I  expected  that  after  I  got  to  be  a  sal- 
aried man,  with  a  swing-chair  in  Mr.  Robert's 
private  office,  I'd  be  called  on  only  to  pull  the 
brainy  stuff,  calm  and  dignified,  without  any 
outside  chasin'  around.  I  had  a  soothin'  idea 
it  would  be  a  case  of  puttin'  in  my  mornin's 
dictatin'  letters  to  gen'ral  managers,  and  my 
afternoons  to  holdin'  interviews  with  the  Sec- 
retary of  the  Treasury,  and  so  on.  I  was 
lookin'  for  plenty  of  high-speed  domework,  but 
nothin'  more  wearin'  on  the  arms  than  pushin* 
a  call  button  or  usin'  a  rubber  stamp. 

But  somehow  I  can't  seem  to  do  finance,  or 
anything  else,  without  throwin'  in  a  lot  of  extra 
pep.  No  matter  how  I  start,  first  thing  I  know 
I'm  mixed  up  with  quick  action,  and  as  likely 
as  not  gettin'  my  clothes  mussed.  This  last 
stunt,  though — believe  me  I  couldn't  have  got 
more  thrills  if  I'd  joined  a  circus ! 

It  opens  innocent  enough  too.  I  was  moochin' 
around  the  bondroom  when  I  happens  to  glance 
over  the  transfer  book  and  notices  that  a  big 
block  of  our  debenture  6  's  are  listed  as  goin '  to 

37 


38  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

the  Federated  Tractions.  And  the  name  of  the 
party  who's  about  to  swap  the  6's  for  Tractions 
preferred  is  a  familiar  one.  It's  Aunty's.  Uh- 
huh — Vee  's ! 

Maybe  you  remember  how  Aunty  played  up 
her  skittish  symptoms  about  them  same  bonds 
a  few  weeks  back,  the  time  she  planned  to  ex- 
hibit me  to  Vee  in  my  office  boy  job  and  got  so 
badly  jolted  when  she  finds  me  posin'  as  a  pri- 
vate sec  instead?  Went  away  real  peeved, 
Aunty  did  that  time.  And  now  it  looks  like  she 
was  takin'  it  out  by  unloadin'  her  bond  holdin's. 
It's  to  be  some  swap  too,  runnin'  up  into  six 
figures. 

"Chee!"  thinks  I.  ''That's  an  income,  all 
right,  with  Tractions  payin'  between  7  and  9, 
besides  cuttin'  a  melon  now  and  then." 

They  have  their  gen'ral  offices  three  floors 
below  us,  you  know.  Not  that  I  wouldn't  have 
had  a  line  on  'em  anyway;  for  whatever  that 
bunch  of  Philadelphia  live  wires  gets  hold  of 
is  worth  watchin'.  Say,  they'd  consolidate  city 
breathin'  air  if  they  could,  and  make  it  pay 
dividends.  It's  important  to  note  too,  that 
they're  buyin'  into  Corrugated  so  deep.  I  men- 
tions the  fact  casual  to  Mr.  Robert. 

"Really,"  says  he,  liftin'  his  eyebrows  sur- 
prised. "Federated  Tractions!  Are  you  cer- 
tain?" 

"Unless  our  registry  clerk  has  had  a  funny 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    39 

dream,"  says  I.  "The  notice  was  listed  yes- 
terday. And  you  know  how  grouchy  the  old 
girl  was  on  us." 

1 '  H-m-m-m ! "  says  he,  drummin'  his  fingers 
nervous.  "Thanks,  Torchy.  I  must  look  into 
this." 

Seemed  to  worry  Mr.  Robert  a  bit ;  so  maybe 
that's  why  I  had  my  ears  stretched  wider 'n 
usual.  It  wa'n't  an  hour  later  that  I  runs 
across  Izzy  Budheimer  down  in  the  Arcade. 
He's  on  the  Curb  now,  Izzy  is,  and  by  the  size 
of  the  diamond  horseshoe  decoratin'  the  front 
of  his  silk  shirt  he  must  be  tradin'  some  in 
wildcats.  Hails  me  like  a  friend  and  brother, 
Izzy  does,  tries  to  wish  a  tinfoil  Fumadora  on 
me,  and  gives  me  the  happy  josh  about  bein' 
boosted  off  the  gate. 

"You'll  be  gettin'  wise  to  all  the  inside  deals 
now,  eh!"  says  he,  winkin'  foxy.  "And  maybe 
we  might  work  off  something  together.  Yes?" 

* '  Sure ! ' '  says  I.  "I '11  come  down  every  noon 
with  the  office  secrets  and  let  you  peddle  'em 
around  Broad  street  from  a  pushcart.  Gwan, 
you  parrot-beaked  near-broker!  Why,  I 
wouldn't  trust  tellin'  you  the  time  of  day!" 

Izzy  grins  like  I'd  paid  him  a  compliment. 
'  *  Such  a  joker ! ' '  says  he.  ' '  But  listen !  Which 
side  do  the  Tractions  people  come  down  on?" 

"Federated?"  says  I.  "North  corridor,  just 
around  the  corner.  Sleuthin'  around  that 


40  TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

bunch,  are  you?    What's  doing  in  Tractions?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  protests  Izzy,  openin' 
his  eyes  innocent.  ' '  Maybe  I  got  a  customer  on 
the  general  staff,  ain't  it?" 

"You'd  be  scoutin'  up  here  at  this  time  of 
day  after  a  ten-dollar  commission,  wouldn't 
you?"  says  I.  "And  with  that  slump  in  Con- 
necticut Gas  in  full  blast!  Can  it,  Izzy!  I 
know  a  thing  or  two  about  Tractions  myself." 

"Yes?"  he  whispers  persuasive,  almost 
holdin'  his  breath.  "What  do  you  hear,  now?" 

"Don't  say  I  told  you,"  says  I,  "but  they're 
thinkin'  of  puttin'  in  left-handed  straps  for 
south-paw  passengers." 

Izzy  looks  pained  and  disgusted.  He's  got 
a  serious  mind,  Izzy  has,  and  if  you  could  take 
a  thumbprint  of  his  brain,  it  would  be  all  frac- 
tions and  dollar  signs. 

"I  have  to  meet  my  cousin  Abie  Moss,"  says 
he,  edgin'  away.  "He  has  a  bookkeeper's  job 
with  Tractions  for  a  month  now,  and  I  prom- 
ised his  aunt  I  would  ask  how  he's  comin'." 

"How  touchin'!"  says  I  as  he  moves  off. 

I  gazes  after  him  curious  a  minute,  and  then 
follows  a  sudden  hunch.  Why  not  see  just  how 
much  of  a  bluff  this  was  about  Cousin  Abie? 
So  I  slips  around  by  the  cigar  stand,  steps  be- 
hind a  pillar,  and  keeps  him  in  range.  Three 
or  four  minutes  I  watched  Izzy  waitin'  at  the 
elevator  exit,  without  seein'  him  give  anyone 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    41 

the  fraternal  grip.  Then  he  seems  to  quit.  He 
drifts  back  towards  the  Arcade  with  the  lunch 
crowd,  and  I  was  about  to  turn  away  when  I 
lamps  him  bein'  slipped  a  piece  of  paper  by  a 
short,  squatty-built  guy  who  brushes  by  him 
casual.  Izzy  gathers  it  in  with  never  a  word 
and  strolls  over  to  the  'phone  booths,  where  he 
lets  on  to  be  huntin'  a  number  in  the  directory. 
All  he  does  there,  though,  is  spread  out  that 
paper,  read  it  through  hasty,  and  then  tear  it 
up  and  chuck  it  in  the  waste  basket. 

"Huh!"  says  I,  seein'  Izzy  scuttle  off 
towards  Broadway.  "Looks  like  there  was  a 
plot  to  the  piece.  I  wonder?" 

And  just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing  I  collected 
them  twenty-eight  pieces  of  yellow  paper,  car- 
ried 'em  over  to  my  lunch  place,  and  spent  the 
best  part  of  my  noon-hour  piecin'  'em  together. 
What  I  got  was  this,  scribbled  in  lead  pencil : 

Grebel  out.     Larkin  melding.     Teg  morf  rednu. 

' « Whiff o ! ' '  thinks  I.  ' '  What  kind  of  a  Peru- 
vian dialect  is  this  ? ' ' 

Course  the  names  was  plain  enough.  Every- 
body knows  Grebel  and  Larkin,  and  that  they're 
the  big  wheezes  in  that  Philly  crowd.  But  what 
then?  Had  Grebel  gone  out  to  lunch?  And  was 
Larkin  playin'  penuchle?  Thrillin',  if  true. 
Then  comes  this  l '  Teg  morf  rednu ' '  stuff.  Was 
that  Russian,  or  Chinese  I 


42  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Heiney,"  says  I,  callin'  the  dough-faced 
food  juggler.  "Heiney,"  I  repeats  solemn, 
"Teg  morf  rednu." 

Not  a  smile  from  Heiney.  He  grabs  the  bill 
of  fare  and  begins  to  hunt  through  the  cheese 
list  panicky. 

"Never  mind,'*  says  I,  "you  won't  find  it 
there.  But  here's  another:  What  do  you  do 
when  you  meld  a  hundred  aces,  say?" 

A  look  of  almost  human  intelligence  flickers 
into  Heiney's  face.  " Ach!"  says  he.  "By  the 
table  you  pud  'em — so ! ' ' 

"Thanks,  Heiney,"  says  I.  "That  helps  a 
little." 

So  Larkin  was  chuckin'  something  on  the  ta- 
ble, was  he!  But  this  other  dope,  "Teg  morf 
rednu  ? ' '  Say,  I  'd  come  back  to  that  after  every 
bite.  I  wrote  it  out  on  an  envelope,  tried  run- 
nin'  it  together  and  splittin'  it  up  different,  and 
turned  it  upside  down.  Then  in  a  flash  I  got  it. 

When  Mr.  Robert  sails  in  from  the  club  I  was 
waitin'  for  him.  He'd  heard  a  rumor  that 
Grebel  was  to  retire  soon.  Also  he  'd  met  young 
Larkin  in  the  billiard  room,  and  found  that  the 
fam'ly  was  goin'  abroad  for  the  summer. 

"But  all  that  may  mean  nothing  at  all,  you 
know,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"And  then  again,"  says  I.  "Study  that  out 
and  see  if  it  don't  tally  with  your  dope,"  and 
I  produces  a  copy  of  Izzy's  wireless. 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    43 

Mr.  Robert  wrinkles  his  forehead  over  it 
without  any  result.  "What  is  it?"  says 
he. 

"An  inside  tip  on  Tractions,"  says  I,  and 
sketches  out  how  I'd  got  it. 

"Oh,  I  see  now,"  says  he.  "That  about 
Grebel?  But  what  is  melding1?  And  this  last 
— 'Teg  morf  rednu'?  I  can  make  no  sense  of 
that." 

"Try  it  backwards,"  says  I. 

"Why — er — by  Jove!"  says  he.  "Get  from 
under,  eh?  Then-— then  there  is  a  slump  com- 
ing. And  with  all  that  new  stock  issue,  I'm 
not  surprised.  But  that  hits  Miss  Vee's  aunt 
rather  heavily,  doesn't  it?  That  is,  if  the  deal 
has  gone  through." 

' '  Who 's  her  lawyers  ? ' '  says  I.  ' '  They  ought 
to  know." 

"Of  course,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  reachin'  for 
the  'phone.  "Winkler,  Burt  &  Winkler.  Look 
up  the  number,  will  you?  Eh?  Broad,  did  you 
say?" 

And  inside  of  three  minutes  he  has  explained 
the  case  and  got  the  verdict.  "They  don't 
know,"  says  he.  "The  transfer  receipts  were 
sent  for  her  to  sign  last  night.  If  she's  signed 
them,  there's  nothing  to  be  done." 

"But  if  she  hasn't?"  says  I. 

"Then  she  mustn't,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "It 
would  mean  letting  that  crowd  get  a  foothold 


44  TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

in  Corrugated,  and  a  loss  of  thousands  to 
her.  See  if  the  tape  shows  any  recent  fluctua- 
tions." 

"Bluey-ooey !"  says  I,  runnin'  over  the  morn- 
in'  sales  hasty.  "  Opened  at  seven-eighths,  then 
500  at  three-quarters,  another  block  at  a  half, 
300  at  a  quarter — why,  it's  on  the  toboggan!'* 

"She  must  be  found  and  warned  at  once," 
says  Mr.  Robert. 

"Am  I  the  guy?"  says  I. 

"You  are,"  says  he.  "And  minutes  may 
count.  I'll  get  the  address  for  you.  It's  in 
that " 

"Say,"  I  throws  over  my  shoulder  on  my 
way  to  the  door,  "whose  aunt  is  this,  anyway?" 

Looked  like  a  simple  matter  for  me  to  locate 
Aunty.  And  if  she  was  out  takin'  her  drive 
or  anything — why,  I  could  be  explainin'  to  Vee 
while  I  waited.  That  would  be  tough  luck,  of 
course ;  but  I  could  stand  it  for  once. 

At  their  apartment  hotel  I  finds  nobody  home 
but  Celeste,  the  maid,  all  dolled  up  like  Thurs- 
day afternoon.  She  hands  it  to  me  cold  and 
haughty  that  Madame  and  Ma'mselle  are  out. 

"I  could  almost  guess  that  from  the  lid  you're 
wearin',"  says  I.  "One  of  Miss  Vee's,  ain't 
it?" 

She  pinks  up  and  goes  gaspy  at  "that. 
"Please,"  she  begins  pleadin',  "if  you  would 
not  mention — — " 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE        45" 

"I  might  forget  to,"  I  breaks  in,  "if  you'll 
tell  me  where  I  can  find  'em  quickest. ' ' 

And  Celeste  gets  the  information  out  rapid. 
They're  house-partyin'  at  the  Morley  Beck- 
hams,  over  at  Quehassett,  Long  Island.  "Rose- 
mere"  is  the  name  of  the  joint. 

"Me  for  Quehassett!"  says  I,  dashin'  for  the 
elevator. 

But,  say,  I  needn't  have  lost  my  breath. 
Parts  of  Long  Island  you  can  get  to  every  half- 
hour  or  so;  but  Quehassett  ain't  one  of  'em. 
Huntin'  it  up  on  the  railroad  map,  I  discovers 
that  it's  'way  out  to  the  deuce  and  gone  on  the 
north  shore,  and  the  earliest  start  I  can  get  is 
the  four  o  'clock  local. 

Ever  cruise  around  much  on  them  Long 
Island  branch  lines!  Say,  it  must  be  int'restin' 
sport,  providin'  you  don't  care  whether  you  get 
there  this  week  or  next.  I  missed  one  connec- 
tion by  waitin'  for  the  brakeman  to  call  out  the 
change.  And  when  I'd  caught  another  train 
back  to  the  right  junction  I  got  the  pleasin'  bul- 
letin that  the  next  for  Quehassett  is  the  theater 
train,  that  comes  along  somewhere  about  mid- 
night. 

So  there  I  was  hung  up  in  a  rummy  little 
commuter  town  where  the  chief  industry  is 
sellin'  bungalow  sites  on  the  salt  marsh.  Then 
I  tackles  the  'phone,  which  results  in  three 
snappy  conversations  with  a  grouchy  butler  at 


46  TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

sixty  cents  a  throw,  but  no  real  dope  on  the 
Beckhams  or  their  guests. 

Well,  it's  near  two  A.M.  when  I  fin'lly  lands 
in  Quehassett,  which  is  no  proper  time  to  call 
on  anybody's  aunt.  Everything  is  shut  tight 
too;  so  I  spreads  out  an  evenin'  edition  on  a 
baggage  truck  and  turns  in  weary.  I'd  over- 
looked pullin'  down  the  front  shades  to  the  sta- 
tion, though,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  the  sun 
was  hittin'  me  square  in  the  face. 

I  wanders  around  Quehassett  until  a  Dago 
opens  up  a  little  fruitstand.  He  sold  me  some 
bananas  and  a  couple  of  muskmelons  for  break- 
fast, and  points  out  which  road  leads  to  Eose- 
mere.  It 's  down  on  the  shore  about  a  mile  and 
a  half,  and  I  strolls  along,  eatin'  fruit  and  en- 
joyin'  the  early  mornin'  air. 

Some  joint  Eosemere  turns  out  to  be, — acres 
of  lawn,  and  rows  of  striped  awnin's  at  the 
windows.  The  big  iron  gates  was  locked,  with 
nobody  in  sight ;  so  I  has  plenty  of  time  to  write 
a  note  to  Vee,  beggin'  her  for  the  love  of  soup, 
if  Aunty  hasn't  signed  the  transfer  papers,  not 
to  let  her  do  it  until  she  hears  from  me.  My 
scheme  was  to  get  one  of  the  help  to  take  the 
message  to  Vee  before  she  got  up. 

Must  have  been  near  seven  o'clock  when  I 
gets  hold  of  one  of  the  gardeners,  tips  him  a 
dollar,  and  drags  out  of  him  the  fact  that  cook 
says  how  all  the  folks  are  off  on  the  yacht, 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    47 

which  is  gen 'rally  anchored  off  the  dock.  He 
don 't  know  if  it 's  there  now  or  not.  It  was  last 
night.  I  can  tell  by  goin'  down.  The  road  fol- 
lows that  little  creek. 

So  I  gallops  down  to  the  shore.  No  yacht  in 
sight.  There's  a  point  of  land  juts  out  to  the 
left.  Maybe  she 's  anchored  behind  that.  Corn- 
in'  down  along  the  creek  too,  I'd  seen  an  old 
tub  of  a  boat  tied  up.  Back  I  chases  for  it. 

Looked  simple  for  me  to  keep  on;  but  when 
I  get  started  on  a  trail  I  never  know  when  to 
stop.  I  was  paddlin'  down  the  creek,  bound  for 
nowhere  special,  when  along  comes  a  sporty- 
dressed  young  gent,  wearin'  puttee  leggin's  and 
a  leather  cap  with  goggles  attached.  He 's  lug- 
.gin'  a  five-gallon  can  of  gasoline,  and  strikes 
me  for  a  lift  down  the  shore  a  bit. 

"Keepin'  your  car  in  the  Sound,  are  you?" 
says  I,  shovin'  in  towards  the  bank. 

"It's  an  aerohydro,"  says  he. 

"Eh?"  says  I.    "A— a  which?" 

"An  air  boat,  you  know,"  says  he.  "I'm 
going  to  try  her  out.  Bully  morning  for  a  flight, 
isn't  it?" 

"Maybe,"  says  I.  "Get  aboard.  Always 
have  to  cart  your  gas  down  this  way?" 

At  that  he  grows  real  chatty.  Seems  this  is 
a  brand-new  machine,  just  delivered  the  night 
before,  and  he's  keepin'  it  a  dead  secret  from 
the  fam'ly,  so  Mother  won't  worry.  He  says 


48  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

that's  all  nonsense,  though;  for  he's  been  takin' 
lessons  on  the  quiet  for  more  than  a  year,  has 
earned  his  pilot's  license,  and  can  handle  any 
kind  of  a  plane. 

"Just  straight  driving,  of  course,"  he  goes 
on.  "I  don't  attempt  spiral  dips,  or  exhibition 
work.  I've  never  been  up  more  than  five  hun-  • 
dred  feet.  And  this  is  such  a  safe  type.  Oh, 
the  folks  will  come  around  to  it  after  they've 
seen  me  up  once  or  twice.  I  want  to  surprise 
'em.  There  she  is,  up  the  shore.  See!" 

Hanged  if  I  hadn't  missed  it  before,  when  I 
was  lookin'  for  the  yacht!  Spidery  lookin'  af- 
fairs, ain't  they,  when  you  get  close  to,  with  all 
them  slim  wire  guys?  And  the  boat  part  is 
about  as  substantial  as  a  pasteboard  battleship. 
"While  he's  pourin'  in  the  gasoline  I  paddles 
around  and  inspects  the  thing. 

"Five  hundred  feet  up?"  says  I.  "Excuse 
me!" 

He  grins  good  natured.  ' '  Think  you  wouldn  't 
like  it,  eh  f "  says  he.  "  Why  ? ' ' 

' '  Too  cobwebby, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Why,  them  wings 
are  nothin'  but  cloth." 

"Best  quality  duck,  two  layers,"  says  he. 
"And  the  frame  has  a  tensile  strength  of  three 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to  the  square  foot. 
Isn't  that  motor  a  beauty?  Ninety-horse." 

"Guess  I'll  take  my  joy  ridin'  closer  to  the 
turf,  though,"  says  I.  "Course,  I've  always 


TOECHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    49 

had  a  batty  notion  I'd  like  to  fly  some  time; 
but " 

"Hello!"  he  breaks  in.  "There  goes  the 
Katrina ! ' '  and  he  points  out  a  big  white  yacht 
that's  slippin'  along  through  the  water  about 
half  a  mile  off.  "It's  the  Beckhams',"  he  goes 
on.  "They're  our  neighbors  here  at  Eosemere, 
you  know.  They  have  guests  from  town,  and 
my  folks  are  aboard.  By  Jove!  Here's  my 
chance  to  surprise  'em.  I  say,  would  you  mind 
paddling  around  and  giving  me  a  shove  off  ? ' ' 

But  I  stands  gawpin'  out  at  the  yacht.  "The 
Morley  Beckhams?"  says  I. 

"Yes,  yes!"  says  he.  "But  hurry,  please.  I 
want  to  catch  them." 

"You — you "  But  I  was  thinkin'  too 

rapid  to  talk  much.  Vee  and  Aunty  was  out 
on  that  boat,  and  maybe  at  the  next  landin* 
Aunty  would  mail  them  transfers.  If  it  was 
goin'  to  hit  her  alone,  I  might  have  stood  it 
calmer;  but  there  was  Vee. 

"Say,"  I  sputters  out,  "ain't  there  room  for 
two?" 

"Why,  ye-e-e-es,"  says  he  sort  of  draggy. 
"I've  never  taken  up  a  passenger,  though;  but 
I've  thought  that " 

"Then  why  not  now?"  says  I.  "I  want  to 
go  the  worst  way." 

"But  a  moment  ago, "he  protests,  "you " 

;  "It's  different  now,"  says  I.  "There's  a 


50  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

party  on  that  yacht  I  want  to  get  word  to, — 
Miss  Hemmingway.  I  got  to,  that's  all!  And 
what 's  a  neck  more  or  less  1  I'll  take  the  chance 
if  you  will." 

* '  By  Jove ! ' '  says  he.  ' '  I  '11  do  it.  Shove  off. 
Here,  stick  your  oar  into  the  mud  and  push. 
That's  it!  Now  climb  in  and  give  that  old  tub 
of  yours  a  shove  so  she'll  clear  that  left  plane. 
Good  work!  Here's  your  seat,  beside  me. 
Don't  get  your  knees  in  the  way  of  that  lever, 
please,  or  put  your  feet  on  that  cross  bar. 
That's  my  rudder  control.  Now!  Are  you 
ready  1  Then  I  '11  start  her. ' ' 

Say,  I  didn't  have  time  to  work  up  any  spine 
chills,  or  even  say  a  ' '  Now-I-lay-me. "  He 
reaches  up  behind  him,  gives  the  crank  a  whirl, 
and  the  next  thing  I  know  we're  shootin'  over 
the  water  like  an  express  train,  with  the  spray 
flyin',  the  wind  whistlin'  in  my  ears,  and  eight 
cylinders  exhaustin'  direct  within  two  feet  of 
the  back  of  my  neck.  Talk  about  speedin'! 
When  you're  travelin'  through  the  water  at  a 
forty-mile-an-hour  gait,  and  so  close  you  can 
trail  your  fingers,  you  know  all  about  it.  Al- 
though it's  a  calm  mornin',  with  hardly  a  rip- 
ple, the  motion  was  a  little  bumpy.  No  wonder ! 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  I  has  a  sinkin'  sensation 
somewhere  under  my  vest,  the  bumpin'  stops, 
and  I  feels  like  I'd  shuffled  off  somethin'  heavy. 
I  had — a  billion  tons  or  more!  Glancin'  over 


TOECHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    51 

the  side,  I  sees  the  water  ten  or  a  dozen  feet 
below  us.  We  were  in  the  air.  And,  believe 
me,  I  reaches  out  for  something  solid  to  hold 
onto !  All  I  could  find  was  a  two-inch  upright, 
and  I  takes  a  fond  grip  on  that.  If  it  had  been 
a  telephone  pole,  I'd  felt  better. 

My  sporty-dressed  friend  smiles  encouragin' 
over  his  shoulder.  I  hope  I  smiled  back;  but  I 
wouldn't  swear  to  it.  Not  that  I'm  scared. 
Hush,  hush!  But  I  wa'n't  used  to  bein'  shot 
through  the  air  so  impetuous.  I  takes  another 
glance  overboard.  Hel-lup!  Someone's  pullin' 
Long  Island  Sound  from  under  us.  The  water 
must  have  been  fifty  or  sixty  feet  down,  and 
gettin'  more  so.  For  a  while  after  that  I  looks 
straight  ahead.  What's  the  use  keepin'  track 
of  how  high  you  are,  anyway?  You'll  only  bore 
just  so  big  a  hole  in  the  water  if  you  fall. 

But  it's  funny  how  soon  you  can  get  over 
feelin's  like  that.  Inside  of  three  minutes  I'd 
quit  grippin'  the  stanchion  and  was  sittin'  there 
peaceful,  enjoyin'  the  ride.  We  seemed  to  be 
sailin'  along  on  a  level  now,  about  housetop 
high,  and  so  far  as  I  could  see  we  was  as  steady 
as  if  we'd  been  on  a  front  veranda.  There's 
no  sway  or  rock  to  the  machine  at  all.  I'd  been 
holdin'  myself  as  rigid  as  if  I'd  been  in  a  tippy 
canoe;  but  now  I  took  a  chance  on  shiftin'  my 
position  a  little.  I  even  leaned  over  the  side. 
Nothing  happened.  That  was  comfortin'.  How 


52  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

easy  and  smooth  it  was,  glidin'  along  up 
there ! 

Meanwhile  we'd  taken  a  wide  sweep  and  was 
leavin'  the  yacht  far  behind. 

''Say,"  I  shouts  to  my  aviatin'  friend,  ''how 
do  we  get  to  her?" 

But  it's  no  use  tryin'  to  converse  with  that 
roar  in  your  ears.  I  points  back  to  the  boat. 
He  nods  and  smiles. 

"Wait!"  he  yells  at  me. 

With  that  he  pulls  his  plane  lever  and  we  be- 
gins to  climb  some  more.  You  hardly  know 
you're  doin'  it,  though.  Up  or  down  don't  mean 
anything  in  the  air,  where  the  goin'  is  all  the 
same.  Only  as  we  gets  higher  the  Sound  nar- 
rows and  Long  Island  stretches  further  and  fur- 
ther. And,  take  it  from  me,  that's  the  way  to 
view  scenery!  Up  and  up  we  slid,  just  soarin' 
free  and  careless.  He  turns  to  me  with  another 
grin,  to  see  how  I'm  takin'  it.  And  this  time  I 
grins  back. 

"About  three  hundred!"  he  shouts,  puttin* 
his  mouth  close.  "Eighty  an  hour  too!" 

"Zippy  stuff!"  says  I. 

Then  he  gives  me  a  nudge,  juggles  his  de- 
flectors, and  down  we  shoots.  I  never  had  any 
part  of  the  map  come  at  me  so  fast.  Seemed 
like  the  Sound  was  just  rushin'  at  us,  and  I  was 
tryin'  to  guess  how  far  into  the  bottom  we'd 
go,  when  he  pulls  the  lever  again  and  we  skims 


TOECHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    53 

along  just  above  the  surface.  Shootin'  the 
chutes — say,  that  Coney  stunt  seems  tame  com- 
pared to  this! 

In  no  time  at  all  we've  made  a  circle  around 
the  yacht  and  are  comin'  up  behind  her  once 
more.  We  could  see  the  people  pilin'  out  on 
deck  to  rubber  at  us.  In  a  minute  more  we'd 
be  even  with  'em.  And  how  was  I  goin'  to  de- 
liver that  message  to  Vee?  Just  then  I  looks 
in  my  lap,  where  I  was  grippin'  my  straw  lid 
between  my  knees,  and  discovers  that  I've 
lugged  along  one  of  them  muskmelons  in  a  pa- 
per bag.  That  gives  me  my  hunch. 

Fishin'  out  the  note  I'd  written,  I  slits  the 
melon  with  my  knife  and  jabs  it  in.  Then  I 
shows  the  breakfast  bomb  to  my  friend  and 
points  to  the  yacht.  He  nods.  Some  bean,  that 
guy  had ! 

"I'll  sail  over  her,"  he  howls  in  my  ear. 
"You  can  drop  it  on  the  deck." 

There  was  no  time  for  gettin'  ready  or  takin' 
practice  shots.  Up  we  glides  into  the  air  right 
over  the  white  wake  she  was  leavin'.  The  folks 
on  her  was  wavin'  to  us.  First  I  made  out  Vee, 
standin'  on  the  little  bridge  amidships,  lookin' 
cute  and  classy  in  white  serge.  Then  I  spots 
Aunty,  who's  tumbled  out  in  her  boudoir  cap 
and  kimono.  I  leans  over  and  waves  enthusi- 
astic. 

1 '  Hey,  Vee ! "  I  shouts.    ' '  Watch  this ! ' ' 


54  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

i 
I'd  picked  out  the  widest  part  of  the  deck 

forward,  where  there's  no  awnin'  up,  and  when 
it  was  exactly  underneath  I  lets  the  melon  go, 
hard  as  I  could  shoot  it.  Some  shot  that  was 
too !  I  saw  it  smash  on  the  deck,  watched  one 
of  the  sailors  stare  at  it  stupid,  and  then  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Vee  rushin'  towards  the  spot. 
Course  I  wa'n't  sure  she  knew  me  at  that  dis- 
tance, or  had  heard  what  I  said ;  but  trust  her 
for  doin'  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time! 

' '  There 's  Mother ! "  I  hears  my  sporty  friend 
roar  out.  "I  say!  Mother!  It's  Billy,  you 
know. ' ' 

No  doubt  about  Mother's  catchin'  on.  Maybe 
she  'd  suspicioned,  anyway ;  but  the  last  I  saw  of 
her  she  was  slumpin'  into  the  arms  of  a  white- 
haired  old  gent  behind  her. 

Another  minute  and  we'd  left  the  Katrina 
behind  like  she  had  seven  anchors  out.  On  we 
went  and  up  once  more,  turnin'  with  a  dizzy 
swoop  and  skimmin'  past  her,  back  towards 
where  we  started  from.  And  just  as  I  was 
wishin'  he'd  go  faster  and  higher  we  settles 
down  on  the  water,  dashes  in  behind  the  dock, 
the  motor  slows  up,  the  plane  floats  drag  in  the 
mud,  and  it's  all  over. 

Took  the  yacht  near  an  hour  to  get  back  to 
us.  Mother  had  insisted,  and  when  she  found 
Billy  all  safe  and  sound  she  fell  on  his  neck  and 
forgave  him. 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  CHANCE    55 

As  for  me?  Well,  maybe  I  didn't  have  some 
swell  report  to  turn  in  to  Mr.  Robert!  I  had 
him  listenin'  with  his  mouth  open  before  I  got 
through  too. 

"Aunty  was  mighty  suspicious  first  off," 
says  I;  "but  after  she'd  used  the  long  distance 
and  got  a  line  on  how  Tractions  was  waverin', 
she  warms  up  quite  a  lot,  for  her.  Uh-huh! 
Gives  me  a  vote  of  thanks,  and  says  she'll  call 
off  the  deal." 

"Torchy,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  "I  am  speech- 
less with  admiration.  Your  business  methods 
are  certainly  advanced.  I  had  not  thought  of 
flying  as  a  modern  requisite  for  a  commercial 
career." 

"The  real  thing  in  high  finance,  eh?"  says  I. 
"And,  say,  me  for  the  air  after  this !  I've  swal- 
lowed the  bug.  I  know  how  a  bloomin'  seagull 
feels  when  he's  on  the  wing;  and,  believe  me, 
it's  got  everything  else  in  the  sport  line  lookin' 
like  playin'  tag  with  your  feet  tied!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

BEEAKING   IT   TO   THE   BOSS 

I  DON'T  admit  it  went  to  my  head, — not  so 
bad  as  that, — only  maybe  my  chest  measure  had 
swelled  an  inch  or  so,  and  I  wouldn't  say  my 
heels  wa'n't  hittin'  a  bit  hard  as  I  strolls  dig- 
nified up  and  down  the  private  office. 

You  see,  Mr.  Robert  was  snitchin'  a  couple  of 
days  off  for  the  Newport  regatta,  and  he  'd  sort 
of  left  me  on  the  lid,  as  you  might  say.  So 
far  as  there  bein'  any  real  actin'  head  of  the 
Corrugated  Trust  for  the  time  being — well,  I 
was  it.  Anyway,  I'd  passed  along  some  con- 
fidential dope  to  our  Western  sales  manager, 
stood  by  to  take  a  report  from  the  special  audit 
committee,  and  had  an  interview  with  the  presi- 
dent of  a  big  bond  house,  all  in  one  forenoon. 
That  was  speedin'  up  some  for  a  private  sec, 
wa'n't  it? 

And  now  I  was  just  markin'  time,  waitin'  for 
what  might  turn  up,  and  feelin'  equal  to  pullin' 
off  any  sort  of  a  deal,  from  matchin'  Piddie 
for  the  lunches  to,orderin'  a  new  stock  issue. 
What  if  the  asphalt  over  on  Fifth-ave.  was 
softenin'  up,  with  the  mercury  hittin'  the  nine- 

56 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        57 

ties,  and  half  the  force  off  on  vacations  ?  I  had 
a  real  job  to  attend  to.  I  was  doin'  things! 

And  as  I  stops  by  the  roll-top  to  lean  up 
against  it  casual  I  had  that  comf 'table,  easy 
feelin'  of  bein'  the  right  man  in  the  right  place. 
You  know,  I  guess?  You're  there  with  the 
goods.  You  ain't  the  whole  works  maybe;  but 
you're  a  special,  particular  party,  one  that  can 
push  buttons  and  have  'em  answered,  paw  over 
the  mail,  or  put  your  initials  under  a  signature. 

And  right  in  the  midst  of  them  rosy  reflec- 
tions the  door  to  the  private  office  swings  open 
abrupt  and  in  pads  a  stout  old  party  wearin'  a 
generous-built  pongee  suit  and  a  high-crowned 
Panama.  Also  there's  something  familiar 
about  the  bushy  eyebrows  and  the  lima  bean 
ears.  It's  Old  Hickory  himself.  I  chokes  down 
a  gasp  and  straightens  up. 

"Gee,  Mr.  Ellins!"  says  I.  "I  thought  you 
was  down  at  the  Springs  ? ' ' 

"Didn't  think  I'd  been  banished  for  life,  did 
you?"  says  he. 

"But  Mr.  Robert,"  I  goes  on,  "didn't  look 
for  you  until " 

"No  doubt,"  he  breaks  in.  "Robert  and 
those  fool  doctors  would  have  kept  me  soaking 
in  those  infernal  mud  baths  until  I  turned  into 
a  crocodile.  I  know.  I'm  a  gouty,  rheumatic 
old  wreck,  I  suppose;  but  I'll  be  dad  blistered 
if  I'm  going  to  end  my  days  wallowing  in  medi- 


58  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

cated  mud !  I've  had  enough.  Where  is  every- 
body?" 

So  I  has  to  account  for  Mr.  Robert,  tell  how 
Mrs.  Ellins  and  Marjorie  and  Son-in-Law 
Ferdie  are  up  to  Bar  Harbor,  and  hint  that 
they're  expectin'  him  to  come  up  as  soon  as  he 
lands. 

"That's  their  programme,  is  it?"  he  growls. 
"Think  I'm  going  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  sea- 
son sitting  on  a  veranda  taking  pills,  do  they? 
Well,  they're  mistaken!" 

And  off  he  goes  into  his  own  room.  I  don't 
know  what  he  thought  he  was  goin'  to  do  there. 
Just  habit,  I  expect.  For  we've  been  gettin' 
along  without  Old  Hickory  for  quite  some  time 
now,  while  he's  been  away.  First  off  he  tried 
to  keep  in  touch  with  things  by  night  letters, 
then  he  had  a  weekly  report  sent  him ;  but  grad- 
ually he  lost  the  run  of  the  new  deals,  and  for 
the  last  month  or  so  he'd  quit  firm'  over  any 
orders  at  all. 

Through  the  open  door  I  could  see  him  sittin' 
at  his  big,  flat-topped  mahogany  desk,  starin' 
around  sort  of  aimless.  Then  he  pulls  out  a 
drawer  and  shuffles  over  some  old  papers  that 
had  been  there  ever  since  he  left.  Next  he  picks 
up  a  pen  and  starts  to  make  some  notes. 

"Boy!"  he  sings  out.    "Ink!" 

Course  I  could  have  pushed  the  buzzer  and 
had  Vincent  do  it;  but  seein'  how  nobody  had 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        59 

put  him  wise  to  the  change,  I  didn't  feel  like 
announcin'  it  myself.  So  I  fills  the  inkwell, 
chases  up  a  waste  basket  for  him,  and  turns  on 
the  electric  fan. 

' '  Now  bring  the  mail ! ' '  says  he  snappy. 

He  was  back  to ;  so  it  was  safe  to  smile.  You 
see,  I'd  attended  to  all  the  mornin'  deliveries, 
sorted  out  what  I  knew  had  to  be  held  over  for 
Mr.  Robert,  opened  what  was  doubtful,  and 
sent  off  a  few  answers  accordin'  to  orders. 
But,  after  all,  he  was  the  big  boss.  He  had  a 
right  to  go  through  the  motions  if  he  wanted 
to.  So  I  lugs  in  the  mail,  dumps  it  in  the  tray, 
and  leaves  him  with  it. 

Must  have  been  half  an  hour  later,  and  I  was 
back  at  my  own  desk  doping  out  a  schedule  I'd 
promised  to  fix  up  for  Mr.  Robert,  when  I 
glances  up  to  find  Old  Hickory  wanderin' 
around  the  room  absent-minded.  He's  starin7 
hard  at  a  letter  he  holds  in  one  paw.  All 
of  a  sudden  he  discovers  me  at  the  roll-top. 
For  a  second  he  scowls  at  me  from  under 
the  bushy  eyebrows,  and  then  comes  the  ex- 
plosion. 

"Boy!"  he  sings  out.  "What  the  hyphen- 
ated maledictions  are  you  doing  there?" 

Well,  I  broke  it  to  him  as  gentle  as  I  could. 

' '  Promoted,  eh  T '  he  snorts.    ' '  To  what  ? ' ' 

And  I  explains  how  I'm  private  secretary  to 
the  president  of  the  Mutual  Funding  Company. 


60  TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

1 ' Never  heard  of  such  an  organization,"  says 
he.  ' '  What  is  it,  anyway  ? ' ' 

'  *  Dummy  concern  mostly, ' '  says  I,  *  *  faked  up 
to  stall  off  the  I.  C.  C." 

"Eh?  "he  gawps. 

"Interstate  Commerce  Commission,"  says  I. 
"We  beat  'em  to  it,  you  know,  by  dissolvin' — 
on  paper.  Had  to  have  somebody  to  use  the 
rubber  stamp;  so  they  picked  me  off  the  gate." 

' '  Humph ! "  he  grunts.  * '  So  you  're  no  longer 
an  office  boy,  eh?  But  I  had  you  hopping 
around  like  one.  How  was  that?" 

"Guess  I  got  a  hop  or  two  left  in  me,"  says 
I,  "specially  for  you,  Mr.  Ellins." 

' '  Hah ! ' '  says  he.  * '  Also  more  or  less  blarney 
left  on  the  tongue.  Well,  young  man,  we'll  see. 
As  office  boy  you  had  your  good  points,  I  re- 
member; but  as "  Then  he  breaks  off  and 

repeats,  "We'll  see,  Son."  And  he  goes  to 
studyin'  the  letter  once  more. 

Fin'lly  he  sends  for  Piddie.  They  confabbed 
for  a  while,  and  as  Piddie  comes  out  he's  still 
explainin'  how  he's  sure  he  don't  know,  but 
most  likely  Mr.  Eobert  understands  all  about  it. 

"Hang  what  Robert  understands!"  snaps 
Old  Hickory.  "He  isn't  here,  is  he?  And  I 
want  to  know  now.  Torchy,  come  in  here ! ' ' 

"Yes,  Sir,"  says  I,  scentin'  trouble  and  sa- 
lutin'  respectful. 

"What  about  these  Universal  people  refusing 


to  renew  that  Manistee  terminal  lease  1 "  he  de- 
mands. 

And  if  he'd  asked  how  many  feathers  in  a 
rooster's  tail  I'd  been  just  as  full  of  informa- 
tion. But  from  what  Piddie's  drawn  by  de- 
clarin'  an  alibi,  it  didn't  look  like  that  was  my 
cue. 

11  Suppose  I  get  you  the  correspondence  on 
that?"  says  I,  and  rushes  out  after  the  copy- 
book. 

But  the  results  wa'n't  enlightenin'.  We'd 
applied  for  renewal  on  the  old  terms,  the  Uni- 
versal folks  had  sent  back  word  that  in  due 
course  the  matter  would  be  taken  up,  and  that's 
all  until  this  notice  comes  in  that  there's  nothin' 
doin'.  "Inexpedient  under  present  condi- 
tions," was  the  way  they  put  it. 

"I  expect  Mr.  Robert  will  be  back  Monday," 
I  suggests  cautious. 

' '  Oh,  do  you  t ' '  raps  out  Old  Hickory.  ' '  And 
meanwhile  this  lease  expires  to-morrow  noon, 
leaving  us  without  a  foot  of  ore  wharf  any- 
where on  the  Great  Lakes.  What  does  Mr. 
Bobert  intend  to  do  then — transport  by  aero- 
plane? Just  asked  pleasant  and  polite  for  a 
renewal,  did  he  f  And  before  I  could  make  'em 
grant  the  original  I  all  but  had  their  directors 
strung  up  by  the  thumbs!  Hah!" 

He  settles  back  heavy  in  his  chair  and  sets 
them  cut  granite  jaws  of  his  solid.  He  don't 


62  TOKCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

look  so  much  like  an  invalid,  after  all.  There's 
good  color  in  his  cheeks,  and  behind  the  droopy 
lids  you  could  see  the  fighting  light  in  his  eyes. 
He  glances  once  more  at  the  letter. 

"Hello!"  says  he.  "I  thought  their  main 
offices  were  in  Chicago.  This  is  from  Broad- 
way, International  Utilities  Building.  Perhaps 
you  can  tell  me  what  they're  doing  down 
there?" 

"Subsidiary  of  I.  U.,"  says  I.  "Been  listed 
that  way  all  summer. '  ' 

"Then,"  says  Old  Hickory,  smilin'  grim, 
"we  have  to  do  once  more  with  no  less  a  per- 
sonage than  Gedney  Nash.  Well,  so  be  it.  He 
and  I  have  fought  out  other  differences.  We'll 
try  again.  And  if  I'm  a  back  number,  I'll  soon 
know  it.  Now  get  me  a  list  of  our  outside  se- 
curity holdings." 

That  was  his  first  order;  but,  say,  inside  of 
half  an  hour  he  had  everybody  in  the  shop,  from 
little  Vincent  up  to  the  head  of  the  bond  depart- 
ment, doin'  flipflops  and  pinwheels.  Didn't  take 
'em  long  to  find  out  that  he  was  back  on  the 
job,  either. 

' '  Breezy  with  that  now ! "  I  'd  tell  'em.  ' '  This 
is  a  rush  order  for  the  old  man.  Sure  he's 
in  there.  Can't  you  smell  the  sulphur?" 

In  the  midst  of  it  comes  a  hundred-word  code 
message  from  Dalton,  our  traffic  superintendent, 
savin'  how  he'd  been  notified  to  remove  his 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        63 

wharf  spurs  within  twenty-four  hours  and 
askin'  panicky  what  he  should  do  about  it. 

"Tell  him  to  hold  his  tracks  with  loaded  ore 
trains,  and  keep  his  shirt  on,"  growls  Old  Hick- 
ory over  his  shoulder.  "And  'phone  Peabody, 
Frost  &  Co.  to  send  up  their  railroad  securities 
expert  on  the  double  quick." 

That 's  the  way  it  went  from  eleven  A.M.  until 
two-thirty,  and  all  the  lunch  I  indulged  in  was 
two  bites  of  a  cheese  sandwich  that  Vincent 
split  with  me.  At  two-thirty-five  Old  Hickory 
jams  on  his  hat  and  signals  for  me. 

"Gather  up  those  papers  and  come  along," 
says  he.  "I  think  we're  ready  now  to  talk  to 
Gedney  Nash." 

I  smothered  a  gasp.  Was  he  nutty,  or  what? 
You  know  you  don't  drop  in  offhand  on  a  man 
like  Gedney  Nash,  same  as  you  would  on  a 
shrimp  bank  president,  or  a  corporation  head. 
You  hear  a  lot  about  him,  of  course, — now 
givin'  a  million  to  charity,  then  bein'  denounced 
as  a  national  highway  robber, — but  you  don't 
see  him.  Anyway,  I  never  knew  of  anyone  who 
did.  He's  the  man  behind,  the  one  that  pulls 
the  strings.  Course,  he's  supposed  to  be  at 
the  head  of  International  Utilities,  but  he  claims 
not  to  hold  any  office.  And  you  know  what  hap- 
pened when  Congress  tried  to  get  him  before 
an  investigatin'  committee.  All  that  showed 
up  was  a  squad  of  lawyers,  who  announced 


64  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

they  was  ready  to  answer  any  questions  they 
couldn't  file  an  exception  to,  and  three  doctors 
with  affidavits  to  prove  that  Mr.  Nash  was  about 
to  expire  from  as  many  incurable  diseases.  So 
Congress  gave  it  up. 

Yet  here  we  was,  pikin'  downtown  without 
any  notice,  expectin'  to  find  him  as  easy  as  if 
he  was  a  traffic  cop  on  a  fixed  post.  Well,  we 
didn't.  The  minute  we  blows  into  the  arcade 
and  begins  to  ask  for  him,  up  slides  a  smooth- 
talkin'  buildin'  detective  who  listens  polite  what 
I  feed  him  and  suggests  that  if  we  wait  a  min- 
ute he'll  call  up  the  gen'ral  offices.  Which  he 
does  and  reports  that  they've  no  idea  where 
Mr.  Nash  can  be  found.  Maybe  he's  gone  to 
the  mountains,  or  over  to  his  Long  Island  place, 
or  abroad  on  a  vacation. 

"Tommyrot!"  says  Old  Hickory.  "Gedney 
Nash  never  took  a  vacation  in  his  life.  I  know 
he's  in  New  York  now." 

The  gentleman  sleuth  shrugs  his  shoulders 
and  allows  that  if  Mr.  Ellins  ain't  satisfied  he 
might  go  up  to  Floor  11  and  ask  for  him- 
self. So  up  we  went.  Ever  in  the  Tractions 
Buildin'?  Say,  it's  like  bein'  caught  in  a  fog 
down  the  bay, — all  silence  and  myst'ry.  I  ex- 
pect it's  the  headquarters  of  a  hundred  or  more 
different  corporations,  all  tied  up  some  way  or 
other  with  I.  U.  interests;  but  on  the  doors 
never  the  name  of  one  shows:  just  "Mr.  So- 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        65 

and-So,"  "Mr.  Whadye  Callum,"  "Mr.  This- 
and-That."  Clerks  hurry  by  you  with  papers 
in  their  hands,  walkin'  soft  on  rubber  heels. 
They  tap  respectful  on  a  door,  it  opens  silent, 
they  disappear.  When  they  meet  in  the  corri- 
dors they  pass  without  hailin',  without  even  a 
look.  You  feel  that  there's  something  doin' 
around  you,  s'omething  big  and  important.  But 
the  gears  don't  give  out  any  hum.  It's  like  a 
game  of  blind  man's  bluff  played  in  the  dark. 

And  the  sharp-eyed,  gray-haired  gent  we 
talked  to  through  the  brass  gratin'  acted  like 
he'd  never  heard  the  name  Gedney  Nash  be- 
fore. When  Old  Hickory  cuts  loose  with  the 
tabasco  remarks  at  him  he  only  smiles  patient 
and  insists  that  if  he  can  locate  Mr.  Nash,  which 
he  doubts,  he  '11  do  his  best  to  arrange  an  inter- 
view. It  may  take  a  day,  or  a  week,  or  a  month, 
but— 

"Bah!"  snorts  Old  Hickory,  turnin'  on  his 
heel,  and  he  cusses  eloquent  all  the  way  down 
and  out  to  the  taxi. 

"Seems  to  me  I've  heard  how  Mr.  Nash  uses 
a  private  elevator,"  I  suggests. 

"Quite  like  him,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "Think 
you  could  find  it?" 

' '  I  could  make  a  stab, ' '  says  I. 

But  at  that  I  knew  I  was  kiddin'  myself. 
Why  not?  Ain't  there  been  times  when  whole 
bunches  of  live-wire  reporters,  not  to  mention 


66  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

relays  of  court  deputies,  have  raked  New  York 
with  a  fine-tooth  comb,  lookin'  for  Gedney  Nash, 
without  even  gettin'  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of 
his  limousine  rollin'  round  a  corner. 

"Suppose  we  circle  the  block  once  or 
twice,  while  I  tear  off  a  few  Sherlock  Holmes 
thoughts?"  says  I. 

Mr.  Ellins  sniffs  scornful;  but  he'd  gone  the 
limit  himself,  so  he  gives  the  directions.  I 
leaned  back,  shut  my  eyes,  and  tried  to  guess 
how  a  foxy  old  guy  like  Nash  would  fix  it  up 
so  he  could  do  the  unseen  duck  off  Broadway 
into  his  private  office.  Was  it  a  tunnel  from 
the  subway  through  the  boiler  basement,  or 

a  bridge  from  the  next  skyscraper,  or But 

the  sight  of  a  blue  cap  made  me  ditch  this  dream 
stuff.  Funny  I  hadn't  thought  of  that  line  be- 
fore— and  me  an  A.  D.  T.  once  myself ! 

"Hey,  you!"  I  calls  out  the  window.  "Wait 
up,  Cabby,  while  we  take  on  a  passenger.  Yes, 
you,  Skinny.  Hop  in  here.  Ah,  what  for  would 
we  be  kidnappin'  a  remnant  like  you?  It's 
your  birthday,  ain't  it!  And  the  gentleman 
here  has  a  present  for  you — a  whole  dollar.  Eh, 
Mr.  Ellins?" 

Old  Hickory  looks  sort  of  puzzled;  but  he 
forks  out  the  singleton,  and  the  messenger 
climbs  in  after  it.  A  chunky,  round-faced  kid 
he  was  too.  I  pushed  him  into  one  of  the  foldin* 
front  seats  and  proceeds  to  apply  the  pump. 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        67 

"What  station  do  you  run  from,  Sport?" 
says  I. 

"Number  six,"  says  he. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  I.  "Just  back  of  the  Ex- 
change. And  is  old  Connolly  chief  down  there 
still?" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  says  he. 

"Give  him  my  regards  when  you  get  back," 
says  I,  "and  tell  him  Torchy  says  he's  a 
flivver." 

The  kid  grins  enthusiastic. 

"By  the  way,"  I  goes  on,  "who's  he  sendin' 
out  with  the  Nash  work — Gedney  Nash's,  you 
know?" 

"Number  17,"  says  he,  "Loppy  Miller." 

"What!"  says  I.  "Old  Loppy  carryin'  the 
book  yet?  Why,  he  had  grown  kids  when  I 
wore  the  stripes.  Well,  well !  Cagy  old  duffer, 
Loppy.  Ever  ask  him  where  he  delivers  the 
Nash  business?" 

"Yep,"  says  the  youngster,  "and  he  near 
got  me  fired  for  it." 

"But  you  found  out,  didn't  you?"  says  I. 

He  glances  at  me  suspicious  and  rolls  his 
eyes.  "M-m-m-m,"  says  he,  shakin'  his 
head. 

"Ah,  come!"  says  I.  "You  don't  mean  that 
a  real  sure-fire  like  you  could  be  shunted  that 
way?  There 'd  be  no  harm  in  your  givin'  a 
guess,  and  if  it  was  right — well,  we  could  run 


$8  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

that  birthday  stake  up  five  more;  couldn't  we, 
Mr.  Ellins?" 

Old  Hickory  nods,  and  passes  me  a  five-spot 
prompt. 

"Well1?"  says  I,  wavin'  it  careless. 

The  kid  might  have  been  scared,  but  he  had 
the  kale-itch  in  his  fingers.  "All  I  know,"  says 
he,  "is  that  Loppy  allus  goes  into  the  William 
Street  lobby  of  the  Farmers'  National." 

"Go  on!"  says  I.  "That  don't  come  within 
two  numbers  of  backin'  against  the  Traction 
Buildin'." 

"But  Loppy  allus  does,"  he  insists.  "There's 
a  door  to  the  right,  just  beyond  the  teller's 
window.  But  you  can't  get  past  the  gink  in 
the  gray  helmet.  I  tried  once. ' ' 

' '  Secret  entrance,  eh  I "  says  I.  ' '  Sounds  con- 
Tincin'.  Anyway,  I  got  your  number.  So 
here's  your  five.  Invest  it  in  baby  bonds,  and 
don't  let  on  to  Mother.  You're  six  to  the  good, 
and  your  job  safe.  By-by!" 

1 '  What  now  ? ' '  says  Old  Hickory.  '  <  Shall  we 
try  the  secret  door?" 

"Not  unless  we're  prepared  to  do  strong 
arm  work  on  the  guard,"  says  I.  "No.  What 
we  got  to  frame  up  now  is  a  good  excuse.  Let 's 
see,  you  can't  ring  in  as  one  of  the  fam'ly,  can 
you?" 

"Not  as  any  relative  of  Gedney's,"  says  Old 
Hickory.  "I'm  not  built  right." 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        69 

"How  about  his  weak  points?"  says  I. 
"Know  of  any  fads  of  his?" 

"Why,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  "he  is  a  good  deal 
interested  in  landscape  gardening,  and  he  goes 
in  for  fancy  poultry,  I  believe." 

' '  That 's  the  line ! "  says  I.  "  Poultry !  Ain  't 
there  a  store  down  near  Fulton  Market  where 
we  could  buy  a  sample?" 

I  was  in  too  much  of  a  rush  to  go  into  de- 
tails, and  it  must  have  seemed  a  batty  perform- 
ance to  Old  Hickory;  but  off  we  chases,  and 
when  we  drove  up  to  the  Farmers '  National  half 
an  hour  later  I  has  a  wicker  cage  in  each  hand 
and  Mr.  Ellins  has  both  fists  full  of  poultry 
literature  displayed  prominent.  Sure  enough 
too,  we  finds  the  door  beyond  the  teller's  win- 
dow, also  the  gink  in  the  gray  helmet.  He's  a 
husky-built  party,  with  narrow-set,  suspicious 
eyes. 

"Up  to  Mr.  Nash's,"  says  I  casual,  makin'  a 
move  to  walk  right  past. 

"Back  up!"  says  he,  steppin'  square  across 
the  way.  "What  Mr.  Nash?" 

"Whadye  mean,  what  Mr.  Nash?"  says  I. 
"There  ain't  clusters  of  'em,  are  there!  Mr. 
Gedney  Nash,  of  course." 

"Wrong  street,"  says  he.  "Try  around  on 
Broadway. ' ' 

"What  a  kidder!"  says  I.  "But  if  you  will 
delay  the  champion  hen  expert  of  the  country,** 


70  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

and  I  nods  to  Old  Hickory,  "just  send  word  up 
to  Mr.  Nash  that  Mr.  Skellings  has  come  with 
that  pair  of  silver-slashed  blue  Orpingtons  he 
wanted  to  see." 

"Blue  which?"  says  the  guard. 

' '  Ah,  take  a  look ! "  says  I.  * '  Ain  't  they  some 
birds?  Gold  medal  winners,  both  of  'em." 

I  holds  open  the  paper  wrappings  while  he 
inspects  the  cacklers.  And,  believe  me,  they 
was  the  fanciest  poultry  specimens  I'd  ever 
seen!  Honest,  they  looked  like  they'd  been  got 
up  for  the  pullets'  annual  costume  ball. 

"And  Mr.  Nash,"  I  goes  on,  "said  Mr.  Skel- 
lings was  to  bring  'em  in  this  way." 

The  guard  takes  another  glance  at  Old  Hick- 
ory, and  that  got  him ;  for  in  his  high-crowned 
Panama  the  boss  does  look  more  like  a  fancy 
farmer  than  he  does  like  the  head  of  the  Cor- 
rugated. 

"I'll  see,"  says  he,  openin'  a  little  closet  and 
producin'  a  'phone.  He  was  havin'  some  trou- 
ble too,  tellin'  someone  just  who  we  was,  when 
I  cuts  in. 

"Ah,  just  describe  the  birds,"  says  I.  "Sil- 
ver-slashed blue  Orpingtons,  you  know." 

Does  it  work?  Say,  in  less  than  two  minutes 
we  was  being  towed  through  a  windin'  passage 
that  fin'lly  ends  in  front  of  a  circular  shaft 
with  a  cute  little  elevator  waitin'  at  the  bottom. 

"Pass  two,"  says  the  guard. 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        71 

Another  minute  and  we're  bein'  shot  up  I 
don't  know  how  many  stories,  and  are  steppin' 
out  into  the  swellest  set  of  office  rooms  I  was 
ever  in.  A  mahogany  door  opens,  and  in  comes 
a  wispy,  yellow-skinned,  dried-up  little  old 
party  with  eyes  like  a  rat.  Didn't  look  much 
like  the  pictures  they  print  of  him,  but  I  guessed 
it  was  Gedney. 

"Some  prize  Orpingtons,  did  I  understand?" 
says  he,  in  a  soft,  purry  voice.  "I  don't  recall 

having "  Then  he  gets  a  good  look  at 

Old  Hickory,  and  his  tone  changes  sudden. 
"What!"  he  snaps.  "You,  Ellins?  How  did 
you  get  in  here ! ' ' 

"With  those  fool  chickens,"  says  the  boss. 

"But — but  I  didn't  know,"  goes  on  Mr.  Nash, 
"that  you  were  interested  in  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"Glad  to  say  I'm  not,"  comes  back  Old  Hick- 
ory. "Just  a  scheme  of  my  brilliant-haired 
young  friend  here  to  smuggle  me  into  the  sacred 
presence.  Great  Zacharias,  Nash!  why  don't 
you  shut  yourself  in  a  steel  vault,  and  have  done 
with  it?" 

Gedney  bites  his  upper  lip,  annoyed.  "I  find 
it  necessary,"  says  he,  "to  avoid  interruptions. 
I  presume,  however,  that  you  came  on  some  er- 
rand of  importance?" 

"I  did,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "I  want  to  get 
a  renewal  of  that  Manistee  terminal  lease." 


72  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Say,  of  all  the  scientific  squirmin',  Gedney 
Nash  can  put  up  the  slickest  specimen.  First 
off  he  lets  on  not  to  know  a  thing  about  it.  Well, 
perhaps  it  was  true  that  International  Utilities 
did  control  those  wharves:  he  really  couldn't, 
say.  And  besides  that  matter  would  be  left 
entirely  to  the  discretion  of 

"No,  it  won't,"  breaks  in  Old  Hickory, 
shakin'  a  stubby  forefinger  at  him.  "It's  be- 
tween us,  Nash.  You  know  what  those  terminal 
privileges  mean  to  us.  We  can't  get  on  with- 
out them.  And  if  you  take  'em  away,  it's  a 
fight  to  a  finish — that 's  all ! ' ' 

"Sorry,  Ellins,"  says  Mr.  Nash,  "but  I  can 
do  nothing." 

"Wait,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "Did  you  know 
that  we  held  a  big  block  of  your  M.,  K.  &  T.'s? 
Well,  we  do.  They  happen  to  be  first  lien  bonds 
too.  And  M.,  K.  &  T.  defaulted  on  its  last  in- 
terest coupons.  Entirely  unnecessary,  I  know, 
but  it  throws  the  company  open  to  a  foreclosure 
petition.  Want  us  to  put  it  in  1 " 

"H-m-m-m!"  says  Mr.  Nash.  "Er — won't 
you  sit  down?" 

Now  if  it  had  been  two  common,  everyday 
parties,  debatin'  which  owned  a  yellow  dog, 
they'd  gone  hoarse  over  it;  but  not  these  two 
plutes.  Gedney  Nash  asks  Old  Hickory  only 
three  more  questions  before  he  turns  to  the 


BREAKING  IT  TO  THE  BOSS        73 

wicker  cages  and  begins  admirin'  the  fancy 
poultry. 

"Excellent  specimens,  excellent!"  says  he. 
"And  in  the  pink  of  condition  too.  I  have  a 
few  Orpingtons  on  my  place;  but — oh,  by  the 
way,  Ellins,  are  these  really  intended  for  me?'* 

"With  Torchy's  compliments,"  says  Old 
Hickory. 

"By  Jove!"  says  Gedney.  "I — I'm  greatly 
obliged — truly,  I  am.  What  plumage!  What 
hackles!  And — er — just  leave  that  terminal 
lease,  will  you?  I'll  have  it  renewed  and  sent 
up.  Would  you  mind  too  if  I  sent  you  out  by 
the  Broadway  entrance?" 

I  didn't  mind,  for  one,  and  I  guess  the  boss 
didn't;  for  the  last  office  we  passes  through  was 
where  the  gray-haired  gent  camped  watchful 
behind  the  brass  gratin'. 

"Well,  wouldn't  that  crimp  you!"  I  remarks, 
givin'  him  the  passin'  grin.  "Our  old  friend 
Ananias,  ain't  it?" 

And  he  never  bats  an  eyelash. 

But  Gedney  wa'n't  in  that  class.  Before 
closin'  time  up  comes  a  secretary  with  the  lease 
all  signed.  I  was  in  the  boss's  room  when  it's 
delivered. 

' '  Gee,  Mr.  Ellins ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  don 't  need 
any  more  mud  baths,  I  guess." 

All  the  rise  that  gets  out  of  him  is  a  flicker 
in  the  mouth  corners.  * '  Young  man, ' '  says  he, 


it' 

i  i 


74  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

11  whose    idea    was    it,    taking    you    off    the 
gate?" 

:Mr.  Robert's,"  says  I. 
!I  am  glad  to  learn,"  says  he,  "that  Robert 
had  occasional  lapses  into  sanity  while  I  was 
away.     "What  about  your  salary?     Any  ambi- 
tions in  that  direction?" 

"I  only  want  what  I'm  worth,"  says  I. 

"Oh,  be  reasonable,  Son,"  says  he.  "We 
must  save  something  for  the  stockholders,  you 
know.  Suppose  we  double  what  you're  getting 
now?  Will  that  do?" 

And  the  grin  I  carries  out  is  that  broad  I 
has  to  go  sideways  through  the  door. 


CHAPTER  V 

SHOWING  GELKEY  THE  WAY 

I  GOT  to  say  this  about  Son-in-Law  Ferdie: 
He 's  a  help !  Not  constant,  you  know ;  for 
there's  times  when  it  seems  like  his  whole 
scheme  of  usefulness  was  in  providin'  some- 
thing to  hang  a  pair  of  shell-rimmed  glasses 
on,  and  givin'  Marjorie  Ellins  the  right  to 
change  her  name.  But  outside  of  that,  and  fur- 
nishin'  a  comic  relief  to  the  rest  of  the  fam'ly, 
blamed  if  he  don't  come  in  real  handy  now 
and  then. 

Last  Friday  was  a  week,  for  a  sample.  I 
meets  up  with  him  as  he's  driftin'  aimless 
through  the  arcade,  sort  of  caromin'  round  and 
round,  bein'  bumped  by  the  elevator  rushers 
and  watched  suspicious  by  the  floor  detective. 

"What  ho,  Ferdie!"  I  sings  out,  grabbin' 
him  by  the  elbow  and  swingin'  him  out  of  the 
line  of  traffic.  "This  ain't  no  place  to  practice 
the  maxixe." 

"I — I  beg — oh,  it's  you,  Torchy,  is  it?"  says 
he,  sighin'  relieved.  "Where  do  I  go  to  send 
a  telegram?" 

"Why,"  says  I,  "you  might  try  the  barber 

75 


76  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

shop  and  file  it  with  the  brush  boy,  or  you  could 
wish  it  on  the  candy-counter  queen  over  there 
and  see  what  would  happen ;  but  the  simple  way 
would  be  to  step  around  to  the  W.  U.  T.  win- 
dow, by  the  north  exit,  and  shove  it  at 
Gladys." 

' '  Ah,  thanks, ' '  says  he.  *  *  North  exit,  did  you 
say?  Let's  see,  that  is — er " 

11  'Bout  face!"  says  I,  takin'  him  in  tow. 
"Now  guide  right !  Hep,  hep,  hep — parade  rest 
— here  you  are !  And  here 's  the  blank  you  write 
it  on.  Now  go  to  it ! " 

"I — er — but  I'm  not  quite  sure,"  protests 
Ferdie,  peelin'  off  one  of  his  chamois  gloves, 
"I'm  not  quite  sure  of  just  what  I  ought  to 
say  " 

"That  bein'  the  case,"  says  I,  "it's  lucky 
you  ran  into  me,  ain't  it?  Now  what's  the 
argument  t ' ' 

Course  it  was  a  harrowin'  crisis.  Him  and 
Marjorie  had  got  an  invite  some  ten  days  ago 
to  spend  the  week-end  at  a  swell  country  house 
over  on  Long  Island.  They'd  hemmed  and 
hawed,  and  fin'lly  ducked  by  sendin'  word  they 
was  so  sorry,  but  they  was  expectin'  a  young 
gent  as  guest  about  then.  The  answer  they 
got  back  was,  "Bring  him  along,  for  the  love 
of  Mike ! "  or  words  to  that  effect.  Then  they  'd 
debated  the  question  some  more.  Meanwhile 
the  young  gent  had  canceled  his  date,  and  the 


SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY       77 

time  has  slipped  by,  and  here  it  was  almost 
Saturday,  and  nothin'  doing  in  the  reply  line 
from  them.  Marjorie  had  thought  of  it  while 
they  was  havin'  lunch  in  town,  and  she'd  chased 
Ferdie  out  to  send  a  wire,  without  tellin'  him 
what  to  say. 

"And  you  want  someone  to  make  up  your 
mind  for  you,  eh?"  says  I.  "All  right.  That's 
my  long  suit.  Take  this:  'Begret  very  much 
unable  to  accept  your  kind  invitation' — which 
might  mean  anything,  from  a  previous  engage- 
ment to  total  paralysis." 

"Ye-e-es,"  says  Ferdie,  hangin'  his  bamboo 
stick  over  his  left  arm  and  chewin'  the  pen- 
holder thoughtful,  "but  Marjorie '11  be  awfully 
disappointed.  I  think  she  really  does  want  to 
go." 

"Ah,  squiffle!"  says  I.  "She'll  get  over  it. 
Whose  joint  is  it,  anyway?" 

"Why,"  says  he,  "the  Pulsifers',  you  know." 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Not  the  Adam  K.'s  place, 
Cedarholm?" 

Ferdie  nods.  And,  say,  it  was  like  catchin' 
a  chicken  sandwich  dropped  out  of  a  clear  sky. 
The  Pulsifers!  Didn't  I  know  who  was  there? 
I  did!  I'd  had  a  bulletin  from  a  very  special 
and  particular  party,  sayin'  how  she'd  be  there 
for  a  week,  while  Aunty  was  in  the  Berkshires. 
And  up  to  this  minute  my  chances  of  gettin' 
inside  Cedarholm  gates  had  been  null  and  void, 


78  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

or  even  worse.  But  now — say,  I  wanted  to  be 
real  kind  to  Ferdie ! 

"One  or  two  old  friends  of  Marjorie's  are  to 
be  there,"  he  goes  on  dreamy. 

' '  They  are  I "  says  I.  ' '  Then  that 's  diff  'rent. 
You  got  to  go,  of  course." 

"But — but,"  says  he,  "only  a  moment  ago 
you " 

"Ah,  mooshwaw!"  says  I.  "You  don't  want 
Marjorie  grumpin'  around  for  the  next  week, 
do  you,  wishin'  she'd  gone,  and  layin'  it  all 
to  you?" 

Ferdie  blinks  a  couple  of  times  as  the  picture 
forms  on  the  screen.  "That's  so,"  says  he. 
"She  would." 

"Then  gimme  that  blank,"  says  I.  "Now 
here,  how's  this,  'Have  at  last  arranged  things 
so  we  can  come.  Charmed  to  accept '  1  Eh  1 ' ' 

"But — but  there's  Baby's  milk,"  objects 
Ferdie.  "Marjorie  always  watches  the  nurse 
sterilize  it,  you  know." 

"Do  up  a  gallon  before  you  leave,"  says  I. 

"  It 's  such  a  puzzling  place  to  get  to,  though, ' ' 
says  Ferdie.  "I'm  sure  we'd  never  get  on 
the  right  train." 

"Whadye  mean,  train,"  says  I.  "Ah,  show 
some  class !  Go  in  your  limousine." 

"So  we  could,"  says  Ferdie.  "But  then,  you 
know,  they'll  be  expectin'  us  to  bring  an  extra 
young  man." 


SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY       79 

"They  needn't  be  heartbroken  over  that," 
says  I.  "You  didn't  say  who  he  was,  did 
you?" 

"Why,  no,"  says  Ferdie;  "but " 

"Since  you  press  me  so  hard,"  says  I,  "I'll 
sub  for  him.  Guess  you  need  me  to  get  you 
there,  anyway." 

"By  Jove!"  says  Ferdie,  as  the  proposition 
percolates  through  the  hominy.  "I  wonder 

if — " 

"Never  waste  time  wonderin',"  says  I. 
' '  Take  a  chance.  Here,  sign  your  name  to  that ; 
then  we'll  go  hunt  up  Marjorie  and  tell  her  the 
glad  news." 

Ferdie  was  still  in  a  daze  when  we  found 
the  other  three-quarters  of  the  sketch,  and 
Marjorie  was  some  set  back  herself  when  I 
springs  the  scheme.  But  she's  a  good  sport, 
Marjorie  is,  and  if  she  was  hooked  up  to  a  live 
one  she  'd  travel  just  as  lively  as  the  next  heavy- 
weight. 

"Oh,  let's!"  says  she,  clappin'  her  hands. 
"You  know  we  haven't  been  away  from  home 
overnight  for  an  age.  And  Edna  Pulsifer's 
such  a  dear,  even  if  her  father  is  a  grouchy 
old  thing.  We  '11  take  Torchy  along  too.  What 
do  you  say,  Ferdie?" 

Foolish  question!  Ferdie  was  still  dazed. 
And  anyhow  she  had  said  it  herself. 

So  that's  how  it  happens  I'm  one  of  the 


80  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

chosen  few  to  be  landed  under  the  Cedarholm 
porte-cochere  that  Saturday  afternoon.  Course 
the  Pulsifers  ain't  reg'lar  old  fam'ly  people, 
like  Ferdie's  folks.  They  date  back  to  about 
the  last  Broadway  horse-car  period,  I  under- 
stand, when  old  Adam  K.  begun  to  ship  his 
Cherryola  dope  in  thousand-case  lots.  Now, 
you  know,  it's  all  handled  for  him  by  the  drug 
trust,  and  he  only  sits  by  the  safety-vault  door 
watchin'  the  profits  roll  in.  But  with  his  name 
still  on  every  label  you  could  hardly  expect  the 
Pulsifers  to  qualify  for  Mrs.  Astor's  list. 

Seems  Edna  went  to  the  same  boardin'  school 
as  Marjorie  and  Vee,  though,  and  neither  of 
'em  ever  thinks  of  throwin'  Cherryola  at  her. 
And  as  far  as  an  establishment  goes,  Cedar- 
holm  is  the  real  thing.  Gave  me  quite  some 
thrill  to  watch  two  footmen  in  silver  and  baby 
blue  pryin'  Marjorie  out  of  the  limousine. 

"Gee!"  thinks  I,  glancin'  around  at  the  deep 
verandas,  the  swing  seats,  and  the  cozy  corner 
nooks.  "If  Vee  and  I  can't  get  together  for 
a  few  chatty  words  among  all  this,  then  I'm 
a  punk  plottist ! ' ' 

These  country  house  joints  are  so  calm  and 
peaceful  too!  It's  a  wonder  anybody  could 
work  up  a  case  of  nerves,  havin'  this  for  a 
steady  thing.  But  Edna  and  Mrs.  Pulsifer 
acted  sort  of  restless  and  jumpy.  She's  a  tall, 
thin,  hollow-eyed  dame,  Mrs.  Pulsifer  is,  with 


gray  hair  and  a  smooth,  easy  voice.  Miss  Edna 
must  take  more  after  her  Pa ;  for  she 's  filled  out 
better,  and  while  she  ain't  what  you'd  call 
mug-mapped,  she  has  one  of  these  low-bridge 
noses  and  a  lot  of  oily,  dark  red  hair  that  she 
does  in  a  weird  fashion  of  her  own  with  a  side 
part.  Seems  shy  and  bashful  too,  except  when 
she  snuggles  up  on  the  lee  side  of  Marjorie  and 
trails  off  with  her. 

The  particular  party  I  was  strainin'  my  eye- 
sight for  ain't  in  evidence,  though,  and  all  the 
hint  I  gets  of  her  bein'  there  was  hearin'  a 
ripply  laugh  at  the  far  end  of  the  hallway  when 
she  and  Marjorie  go  to  a  fond  clinch.  That 
was  some  comfort,  though, — she  was  in  the 
house ! 

As  I  couldn't  very  well  go  scoutin'  around 
whistlin'  for  her  to  come  out,  I  does  the  next 
best  thing.  After  bein '  shown  my  room  I  drifts 
downstairs  and  out  on  the  lawn  where  I'd  be 
some  conspicuous.  Course  I  wa'n't  suggestin' 
anything,  but  if  somebody  should  happen  to 
see  me  and  judge  that  I  was  lonesome,  they 
might  wander  out  that  way  too.  Sure  enough 
somebody  did, — Ferdie. 

"I  thought  you  had  to  take  a  nap  before  din- 
ner," says  I,  maybe  not  so  cordial. 

" Bother!"  says  he.  "There's  no  such  thing 
as  that  possible  with  those  three  girls  chatter- 
ing away  in  the  next  room." 


82  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Well,  they  ain't  been  together  for  some  time, 
I  expect, ' '  says  I. 

"It's  worse  than  usual,"  says  Ferdie.  "A 
man  in  the  case,  you  might  know. ' ' 

* '  Eh  ? ' '  says  I,  prickin '  up  my  ears.  * '  Whose 
man!" 

"Oh,  Edna  Pulsifer's  absurd  ditch  digger," 
says  Ferdie.  "He's  a  young  engineer,  you 
know,  that  she 's  been  interested  in  for  a  couple 
of  years.  Her  father  put  a  stop  to  it  once ;  kept 
her  in  Munich  for  ten  months — and  that's  a 
perfectly  deadly  place  out  of  season,  you  know. 
But  it  doesn't  seem  to  have  done  much 
good." 

I  grins.  Surprisin'  how  cheerful  I  could  be 
so  long  as  it  was  a  case  of  Miss  Pulsifer's  young 
man.  I  pumps  the  whole  tale  out  of  Ferdie, — 
how  this  Mr.  Bert  Gilkey — cute  name  too — had 
been  writin'  her  letters  all  the  time  from  out 
West,  how  he'd  been  seized  with  a  sudden  fit, 
wired  on  that  he  must  see  her  once  more,  and 
had  rushed  East.  Then  how  Pa  Pulsifer  had 
caught  'em  lalligaggin'  out  by  the  hedge,  had 
talked  real  rough  to  Gilkey,  and  ordered  him 
never  to  muddy  his  front  doormat  again. 

"And  now,"  goes  on  Ferdie,  "he  sends  word 
to  Edna  that  he  means  to  try  it  once  more,  no 
matter  what  happens,  and  everyone  is  all 
stirred  up. ' ' 

"So  that  accounts  for  the  nervous  motions, 


eh?"  says  I.  "What  does  Pa  Pulsifer  have  to 
say  to  this  defi?" 

"Goodness!"  says  Ferdie,  shudderin'.  "He 
doesn't  know.  No  one  dares  tell  him  a  word. 
If  he  found  out — well,  it  would  be  awful!" 

* '  Huh ! ' '  says  I.  * '  One  of  these  f am  'ly  ring- 
masters, is  he?" 

That  was  it,  and  from  Ferdie 's  description  I 
gathered  that  old  Adam  K.  was  a  reg'lar  do- 
mestic tornado,  once  he  got  started.  Maybe 
you  know  the  brand  f  And  it  seems  Pa  Pulsifer 
was  the  limit.  So  long  as  things  went  his  way 
he  was  a  prince, — right  there  with  the  jolly 
haw-haw,  fond  of  callin'  wifey  pet  names  before 
strangers,  and  posin'  as  an  easy  mark, — but 
let  anybody  try  to  pull  off  any  programme  that 
didn't  jibe  with  his,  and  black  clouds  rolled  up 
sudden  in  the  "West. 

"I  do  hope,"  goes  on  Ferdie,  "that  nothing 
of  that  sort  occurs  while  we  are  here." 

So  did  I,  for  more  reasons  than  one.  What 
I  wanted  was  peace,  and  plenty  of  it,  with  Vee 
more  or  less  disengaged. 

Nothin'  could  have  been  more  promisin' 
either  than  the  openin'  of  that  first  dinner 
party.  Pa  Pulsifer  had  showed  up  about  six 
o  'clock  from  the  Country  Club,  with  his  rugged, 
hand  hewed  face  tinted  up  cheery.  Some  of  it 
was  sunburn,  and  some  of  it  was  rye,  I  expect, 
but  he  was  glad  to  see  all  of  us.  He  patted 


84  TORCHF,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Marjorie  on  the  cheek,  pinched  Vee  by  the  ear, 
and  slapped  Ferdie  on  the  back  so  hearty  he 
near  knocked  the  breath  out  of  him.  So  far  as 
our  genial  host  could  make  it,  it  was  a  gay  and 
festive  scene.  Best  of  all  too,  I'd  been  put  next 
to  Vee,  and  I  was  just  workin'  up  to  exchangin' 
a  hand  squeeze  under  the  tablecloth  when,  right 
in  the  middle  of  one  of  Pa  Pulsifer's  best 
stories,  there  floats  in  through  the  open  win- 
dows a  crash  that  makes  everybody  sit  up.  It 
sounds  like  breakin'  glass. 

''Hah!"  snorts  Pulsifer,  scowlin'  out  into 
the  dark.  "Now  what  in  blazes  was  that?" 

"I — I  think  it  must  have  been  something  in 
the  kitchen,  Dear,"  says  Mrs.  Pulsifer.  "Don't 
mind. ' ' 

"But  I  do  mind,"  says  he.  "In  the  first 
place,  it  wasn't  in  the  kitchen  at  all,  and  if 
you'll  all  excuse  me,  I'll  just  see  for  myself." 

Meanwhile  Edna  has  turned  pale,  Marjorie 
has  almost  choked  herself  with  a  bread  stick, 
and  Ferdie  has  let  his  fork  clatter  to  the  floor. 
Ma  Pulsifer  is  bitin'  her  lip;  but  she's  right 
there  with  the  soothin'  words. 

"Please,  Dear,"  says  she,  "let  me  go.  They 
want  you  to  finish  your  story." 

It  was  a  happy  touch,  that  last.  Pa  Pulsifer 
recovers  his  napkin,  settles  back  in  his  chair, 
and  goes  on  with  the  tale,  while  Mother  slips 
out  quiet.  She  comes  back  after  a  while,  springs 


SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY       85 

a  nervous  little  laugh,  and  announces  that 
it  was  only  the  glass  in  one  of  the  hotbed 
frames. 

"Some  stupid  person  taking  a  short  cut 
across  the  grounds,  I  suppose,"  says  she. 

Didn't  sound  very  convincin'  to  me;  but  Pul- 
sifer  had  got  started  on  another  boyhood  anec- 
dote, and  he  let  it  pass.  I  had  a  hunch,  though, 
that  Mrs.  Pulsifer  hadn't  told  all.  I  caught  a 
glance  between  her  and  Edna,  and  some  flashes 
between  Edna  and  Vee,  and  I  didn't  need  any 
sixth  sense  to  feel  that  something  was  in  the 
air. 

No  move  was  made,  though,  until  after  coffee 
had  been  served  in  the  lib'ry  and  Pa  Pulsifer 
was  fittin'  his  fav'rite  Harry  Lauder  record  on 
the  music  machine. 

First  Mrs.  Pulsifer  slips  out  easy.  Next 
Edna  follows  her,  and  after  them  Marjorie  and 
Vee,  havin'  exchanged  some  whispered  remarks, 
disappears  too.  Maybe  it  was  my  play  to  stick 
it  out  with  Ferdie  and  the  old  boy,  but  I  couldn  't 
see  any  percentage  in  that,  with  Vee  gone;  so 
,1  wanders  casual  into  the  hall,  butts  around 
s  through  the  music  room,  follows  a  bright  light 
at  the  rear,  and  am  almost  run  down  by  Mar- 
jorie hurrying  the  other  way  sleuthy. 

' '  Oh ! "  she  squeals.  *  *  It 's  you,  is  it,  Torchy  ? 
S-s-s-sh!" 

"What  you  shushin'  about?"  says  I. 


86  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

1  'Oh,  it's  dreadful !"  puffs  Marjorie.  "He — • 
he's  come!'* 

"That  Gilkey  guy?"  says  I. 

' '  Ye-e-es, ' '  says  she.  ' '  But — but  how  did  you 
know?" 

"I'm  a  seventh  son,  born  with  a  cowlick," 
says  I.  "Was  it  Gilkey  made  his  entrance 
through  the  cucumber  frame  ? ' ' 

It  was.  Also  he'd  managed  to  cut  himself 
in  the  ankles  and  right  wrist.  They  had  him 
in  the  kitchen,  patchin'  him  up  now,  and  they 
was  all  scared  stiff  for  fear  Pa  Pulsifer  would 
discover  it  before  they  could  send  him  away. 

/'He'll  be  a  nut  if  he  don't,"  says  I,  "with 
all  you  women  out  here.  Your  game  is  to  chase 
back  and  keep  Pulsifer  interested." 

"I  suppose  you're  right,"  says  Marjorie. 
"Let's  tell  them." 

So  I  follows  into  the  big  kitchen,  where  I  finds 
the  disabled  Romeo  propped  up  in  a  chair,  with 
the  whole  push  of  'em,  includin'  the  fat  cook, 
a  couple  of  maids,  and  the  butler,  all  tryin'  to 
bandage  him  in  diff'rent  spots.  He's  a  big, 
gawky-lookin '  young  gent,  with  a  thick  crop  of 
pale  hair  and  a  solemn,  serious  look  on  his  face, 
like  he  was  one  of  the  kind  that  took  everything 
hard.  As  soon  as  Marjorie  gives  'em  my  hint 
about  goin'  back  to  Father  there's  a  gen'ral 
protest. 

"Oh,  I  can't  do  it!"  says  Edna. 


SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY       87 

"He  would  notice  at  once  how  nervous  I  am," 
groans  Mrs.  Pulsifer. 

"But  you  don't  want  Mm  walking  out  here, 
do  you?"  demands  Marjorie. 

That  settled  'em.  They  bunched  together 
panicky  and  started  back  for  the  lib'ry. 

"I'll  stay  and  attend  to  the  getaway,"  says  I. 
"Nobody '11  miss  me." 

"Thank  you,"  says  Gilkey;  "but  I'm  not  sure 
I  wish  to  go  away.  I  came  to  see  Edna,  you 
know. ' ' 

"So  I  hear,"  says  I.  "Unique  idea  of  yours 
too,  rollin'  in  the  hotbeds  first." 

"I — I  was  only  trying  to  avoid  meeting  Mr. 
Pulsifer,"  says  he;  "exploring  a  bit,  you  see. 
I  could  hear  voices  in  the  dining-room;  but 
I  couldn't  quite  look  in.  There  was  a  little 
shed  out  there,  though,  and  by  climbing  on 
that  I  could  get  a  view.  That  was  how  I  lost 
my  balance. ' ' 

"Before  you  go  callin'  again,"  says  I,  "you 
ought  to  practice  roostin'  in  the  dark.  Say, 
the  old  man  must  have  thrown  quite  a  scare1 
into  you  last  time." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  Mr.  Pulsifer,  not  a  bit," 
says  he. 

1 '  Well,  well ! "  says  I.    "  Think  of  that ! ' ' 

"Anyway,"  says  he,  "I  just  wasn't  goin'  to 
be  driven  off  that  way.  It — it  isn't  fair  to  either 
of  us." 


88  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

''Then  it's  a  clear  case  with  both  of  you,  is 
it? "says  I. 

1  'We  are  engaged,"  says  Gilkey,  "and  I 
don't  care  who  knows  it!  It's  not  her  money 
I'm  after,  either.  We  don't  want  a  dollar  from 
Mr.  Pulsif er.  We — we  just  want  each  other. ' ' 

"Now  you're  talkin'!"  says  I;  for,  honest, 
the  simple,  slushy  way  he  puts  it  across  sort 
of  wins  me.  And  if  that  was  how  the  case  stood, 
with  Edna  longin'  for  him,  and  him  yearnin' 
for  Edna,  why  shouldn't  they?  If  I'm  any 
judge,  Edna  wouldn't  find  another  right  away 
who'd  be  so  crazy  about  her,  and  anyone  who 
could  discover  charms  about  Gilkey  ought  to 
be  rewarded. 

"See  here!"  says  I.  "Why  not  sail  right 
in  there,  look  Father  between  the  eyes,  and 
hand  that  line  of  dope  out  to  him  as  straight 
as  you  gave  it  to  me?" 

He  gawps  at  me  a  second,  like  I'd  advised  him 
to  jump  off  the  roof.  "Do — do  you  think  I 
ought?"  says  he. 

I  has  to  choke  back  a  chuckle.  Wanted  my 
advice,  did  he?  Well,  say,  I  could  give  him  a 
truckload  of  that ! 

"It  depends,"  says  I,  "on  how  deep  the  yel- 
low runs  in  you.  Course  it's  all  right  for  you 
to  register  this  leader  about  not  bein'  scared 
of  him.  You  may  think  you  ain't,  but  you  are 
all  the  same ;  and  as  long  as  you  're  in  that  state 


SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY       89 

you  're  licked.  That 's  the  big  trouble  with  most 
of  us, — bein'  limp  in  the  spine.  We're  afraid 
of  our  jobs,  afraid  of  what  the  neighbors  will 
say,  afraid  of  our  stomachs,  afraid  of  to-mor- 
row. And  here  you  are,  prowlin'  around  ony 
the  outside,  gettin'  yourself  messed  up,  and 
standin'  to  lose  the  one  and  only  girl,  all  be- 
cause an  old  stuff  like  Pulsifer  says  'Boo!' 
at  you  and  tells  you  to  '  Scat ! '  Come  on  now, 
better  let  me  lead  you  out  and  see  you  safe* 
through  the  gate." 

Course  that  was  proddin'  him  a  little  rough, 
but  I  wanted  to  bring  this  thing  to  a  head  some- 
how. Made  Gilkey  squirm  in  his  chair  too.  He 
begins  rollin'  his  trousers  down  over  the  ban- 
dages and  struggles  into  his  coat. 

"I  suppose  you're  right,"  says  he.  "I — I 
think  I  will  go  in  and  see  Mr.  Pulsifer. ' ' 

' '  Wha-a-at ! ' '  says  I.    < '  Now  f ' ' 

"Why  not?"  says  he,  pushin'  through  the 
swing  door. 

* '  Hey  I "  I  calls  out,  jumpin '  after  him.  ' '  Bet- 
ter let  me  break  it  to  'em  in  there." 

"As  you  please,"  says  Gilkey;  "only  let's 
have  no  delay." 

So  I  skips  across  the  hall  and  into  the  lib'ry, 
where  they're  all  makin'  a  stab  at  bein'  chatty 
and  gay,  with  Pa  Pulsifer  in  the  center. 

"Excuse  me,"  says  I,  "but  there's  a  young 
gent  wants  a  few  words  with  Mr.  Pulsifer." 


90  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

''What's  that!"  growls  Adam  K.,  glarin* 
about  suspicious  at  the  gaspy  circle.  "What 
young  man?" 

* '  Why, "  says  I,  "  it 's ' '  But  then  in  he 

stalks. 

"Oh,  Herbert!"  sobs  Edna,  makin'  a  wild 
grab  at  Marjorie  for  support. 

As  for  Pa  Pulsifer,  his  eyes  get  stary,  the 
big  vein  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead  swells 
threatening  and  his  bushy  white  eyebrows  seem 
to  bristle  up. 

"You!"  he  snorts.  "How  did  you  get  in 
here,  Sir?" 

"Through  the  kitchen,"  says  Gilkey.  "I 
came  to  tell  you  that " 

"Stop!"  roars  Pulsifer,  stampin'  his  foot 
and  bunchin'  his  fists  menacin'.  "You  can't 
tell  me  anything,  not  a  word,  you — you  good- 
for-nothing  young  scoundrel!  Haven't  I 
warned  you  never  to  step  foot  in  my  house 
again?  Didn't  I  tell  you " 

Well,  it's  the  usual  irate  parent  stuff,  only 
a  little  more  wild  and  ranty  than  anything 
Belasco  would  put  over.  He  abuses  Gilkey  up 
and  down,  threatens  him  with  all  kinds  of 
things,  from  arrest  to  sudden  death,  and  gets 
purple  in  the  face  doin'  it.  While  Gilkey,  he 
just  stands  there,  takin*  it  calm  and  patient. 
Then,  when  there  comes  a  lull,  he  remarks 
casual : 


SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY       91 

"  If  that  is  all,  Sir,  I  wish  to  say  to  you 
that  Edna  and  I  are  engaged,  and  that  I  intend 
to  marry  her  early  next  week." 

Wow !  That 's  the  cue  for  another  explosion. 
It  starts  in  just  as  fierce  as  the  first;  but 
it  don't  last  so  long,  and  towards  the 
end  Pa  Pulsifer  is  talkin'  husky  and  puffing 
hard. 

' '  Go ! "  he  winds  up.  ' '  Get  out  of  my  house 
before  I — I " 

"Oh,  I  say,"  breaks  in  Gilkey,  "before  you  do 
what?" 

"Throw  you  out!"  bellows  Pulsifer. 

"Don't  be  absurd,"  says  Gilkey,  statin*  it 
quiet  and  matter  of  fact.  "You  couldn't,  you 
know.  Besides,  it  isn't  being  done." 

And  it  takes  Pa  Pulsifer  a  full  minute  before 
he  can  choke  down  his  temper  and  get  his  wind 
again.  Then  he  advances  a  step  or  so,  points 
dramatic  to  the  door,  and  gurgles  throaty : 

* '  Will— you— get— out ! ' ' 

"No,"  says  Gilkey.  "I  came  to  see  Edna. 
I've  had  no  dinner  either,  and  I'd  like  a  bite 
to  eat" 

Pulsifer  stood  there,  not  two  feet  from  him, 
glarin'  and  puffin',  and  tryin'  to  decide  what 
to  do  next ;  but  it 's  no  use.  He  'd  made  his  grand 
roarin'  lion  play,  which  had  always  scared  the 
tar  out  of  his  folks,  and  he'd  responded  to  an 
encore.  Yet  here  was  this  mild-eyed  young  gent 


92  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

with  the  pale  hair  and  the  square  jaw  not  even 
wabbly  in  the  knees  from  it. 

"Come,  Edna,"  says  Gilkey,  holdin'  out  a 
hand  to  her.  "Let's  go  into  the  dining-room." 

"But — but  see  here!"  gasps  Pa  Pulsifer, 
makin'  a  final  effort.  "I — I " 

"Oh,  hush  up!"  says  Gilkey,  turnin'  away 
weary.  "Come,  Edna." 

And  Edna,  she  went;  also  Mrs.  Pulsifer;  like- 
wise Vee  and  Marjorie.  Trust  women  for 
knowin'  when  a  bluff  has  been  called.  I  expect 
they  was  wise,  too  or  three  minutes  before 
either  me  or  Gilkey,  that  Pa  Pulsifer  was  beat. 
I  stayed  long  enough  to  see  him  slump  into  an 
easy-chair,  his  under  lip  limp  and  a  puzzled 
look  in  his  eyes,  like  he  was  tryin '  to  figure  out 
just  what  had  hit  him.  And  over  by  the  fire- 
place is  Ferdie,  gawpin'  at  him  foolish,  and  ex- 
ercisin'  his  gears,  I  expect,  on  the  same  problem. 
Neither  of  them  had  said  a  word  up  to  the  time 
I  left. 

It  took  the  women  half  an  hour  or  more  to 
feed  Herbert  up  proper  with  all  the  nice  things 
they  could  drag  from  the  icebox.  Then  Mother 
Pulsifer  patted  him  on  the  shoulder  and  shooed 
Edna  and  him  through  the  French  doors  out 
on  the  veranda. 

And  what  do  you  guess  is  Mrs.  Pulsifer 's 
openin'  as  we  drifts  back  towards  the  scene 
of  the  late  conflict? 


SHOWING  GILKEY  THE  WAY       93 

"Why,  Deary!"  says  she.  "You  haven't 
your  cigars,  have  you?  Here  they  are — and 
the  matches.  There!  Now  for  the  surprise. 
Our  young  people  have  decided — that  is,  Edna 
has — not  to  be  married  until  two  weeks  from 
next  Wednesday." 

Does  Pa  Pulsif er  rant  any  more  rants  T  No. 
He  gets  his  perfecto  goin'  nicely,  blows  a  couple 
of  smoke  rings  up  towards  the  ceilin ',  and  then 
remarks  in  sort  of  a  weak  growl: 

"Hanged  if  I'll  walk  down  a  church  aisle, 
Maria — hanged  if  I  do ! " 

"I  told  them  you  wouldn't,"  says  Ma  Pulsi- 
fer,  smoothin'  the  hair  back  over  his  ears 
soothin';  "so  they've  agreed  on  a  simple  home 
wedding,  with  only  four  bridesmaids." 

* '  Huh ! ' '  says  he.    "  It 's  lucky  they  did. ' ' 

But,  say,  take  it  from  me,  his  days  of  crackin* 
the  whip  around  that  joint  are  over.  I'm  begin- 
nin'  to  believe  too  how  some  of  that  dope  I  fed 
to  Herbert  must  have  been  straight  goods.  Vee 
insists  on  talkin'  it  over  later,  as  we  are  camped 
in  one  of  them  swing  seats  out  on  the  veranda. 

"Wasn't  he  just  splendid,"  says  she :  "stand- 
ing up  to  Mr.  Pulsif  er  that  way,  you  know?" 

"Some  hero!"  says  I.  "I  wonder  would  he 
give  me  a  few  lessons,  in  case  I  should  run 
across  your  Aunty  some  day?" 

' '  Pooh ! ' '  says  Vee.  ' '  Just  as  though  I  didn  't 
go  back  to  see  if  he'd  gone  and  hear  you  put- 


•94  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

ting  him  up  to  all  that  yourself!  It  was  fine 
of  you  to  do  it  too,  Torchy. ' ' 

'  *  Right  here,  then ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  Place  the  laurel 
wreath  right  here." 

"Silly!"  says  she,  givin'  me  a  reprovin'  pat. 
"Besides,  that  porch  light  is  on." 

Which  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  turned  it 
off,  and  maybe  accounts  for  our  sudden  break 
when  Marjorie  comes  out  to  tell  us  it's  near 
twelve  o'clock. 

Yes,  indeed,  though  he  may  not  look  it,  Ferdie 
is  more  or  less  of  a  help. 


"WHICH  WAS  ONE  OF  THE  REASONS  I  TURNED  THE  PORCH  LIGHT  OFF." 

Page  94. 


WHEN   SKEET  HAD  HIS   DAY 

THERE'S  one  thing  about  bein'  a  private  sec, 
— you  stand  somewhere  on  the  social  list.  It 
may  be  down  towards  the  foot  among  the  dis- 
cards ;  but  you  're  in  the  running. 

Not  that  I'm  thinkin'  of  havin'  a  fam'ly  crest 
worked  on  my  shirt  sleeves,  or  that  I'm  begin- 
nin'  to  sympathize  with  the  lower  clawsses- 
Nothing  like  that!  Only  it  does  help,  when 
Marjorie,  the  boss's  married  daughter,  has 
planned  some  social  doin's,  to  get  an  invite  like 
a  reg'lar  guy. 

What  do  you  know  too?  It's  dance !  Not  out 
at  their  country  place,  either.  She'd  dragged 
Ferdie  into  town  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  and 
they'd  been  stayin'  at  the  Ellins's  Fifth-ave, 
house,  just  visitin'  and  havin'  a  good  time. 
That  is,  Marjorie  had.  Ferdie,  he  spends  his 
days  mopin'  about  the  club  and  taggin'  Mr. 
Robert. 

"Better  sneak  off  up  to  the  Maison  Maxixe 
with  me,"  says  I,  "and  brush  up  on  your  hesi- 
tation. ' ' 


96  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

A  look  of  deep  disgust  from  Ferdie.  ' '  I  'm  not 
a  dancing  man,  you  know,"  says  he. 

"Both  feet  Methodists,  eh?"  says  I. 

Ferdie  stares  puzzled.  "It's  only  that  I'm 
sure  I'd  look  absurd,"  says  he. 

"For  once,"  says  I,  "you  ain't  so  far  from 
wrong.  I  expect  you  would." 

Even  that  don't  seem  to  please  him,  and  he 
refuses  peevish  to  trail  along  and  watch  me 
blow  myself  to  a  pair  of  dancin'  pumps.  Gee! 
but  this  society  life  runs  into  coin,  don't  it! 
I'd  dropped  into  one  of  them  swell  booterers 
and  was  beefin'  away  at  the  clerk  about  havin' 
to  pay  six-fifty  just  for  a  pair  of  tango  mocca- 
sins, when  I  hears  someone  on  the  bench  back 
of  me  remark  casual : 

"Nine  dollars?  Very  well.  Send  them  up 
to  my  hotel.  Here's  my  card." 

And  as  there's  somethin'  familiar  about  the 
voice  I  takes  a  peek  over  my  shoulder.  But 
neither  the  braid-bound  cutaway  fittin'  so  snug 
at  the  waist,  nor  the  snappy  fall  derby  snug- 
gled down  over  the  lop  ears,  suggested  any  old 
friends.  Not  until  he  swings  around  and  I 
gets  a  view  of  that  nosy  profile  do  I  gasp  any 
gasps. 

"Sizzlin'  Stepsisters!"  says  I.  "If  it  ain't 
Skeet  Keyser!" 

' '  I — ah — I  beg  pardon  f ' '  says  he,  doin '  it  cold 
and  haughty.  Blamed  if  I  don't  think  he  meant 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY       97 

to  hand  me  the  mistaken  identity  dope  first  off ; 
but  after  another  glance  he  thinks  better  of 
it.  "Oh,  yes,"  says  he,  sort  of  languid. 
"Torchy,  isn't  it!" 

"Good  guess,  Skeet,"  says  I,  "seem'  it's 
been  all  of  two  years  since  you  used  to  shove  me 
my  coffee  reg'lar  at  the " 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  breaks  in  hasty;  "but — I — 
ah — I  have  an  appointment.  Glad  to  have  seen 
you  again." 

' '  You  act  it, ' '  says  I.  And  then,  grabbin'  him 
by  the  sleeve  as  he's  backin'  off,  I  whispers, 
"What's  the  disguise,  Skeet?" 

"Really,  now!"  he  protests  indignant. 

' '  Oh,  very  well,  very  well ! ' '  says  I.  * '  But  how 
should  I  know  if  someone  has  wished  a  life 
income  on  you?  Congrats." 

"Ah — er — thanks,"  says  he.  "I — I'll  see 
you  again — perhaps." 

I  loved  the  way  he  puts  that  last  touch  on 
too,  and  you  could  almost  hear  the  sigh  of  re- 
lief as  he  fades  down  the  aisle,  leavin'  me  in  one 
stockin'  foot  gawpin'  after  him. 

No  wonder  I'm  left  open  faced!  Skeet  Key- 
ser  in  a  tail  coat,  orderin'  nine-dollar  pumps 
sent  to  his  hotel!  Why,  say,  more'n  once  I've 
staked  him  to  the  price  of  a  twenty-cent  lodgin', 
and  the  only  way  I  ever  got  any  of  it  back  was 
by  tippin'  him  off  to  this  vacancy  on  the  coffee 
urn  at  the  dairy  lunch.  Used  to  be  copy  boy 


98  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

on  the  Sunday,  Skeet  did;  but  that  was  'way 
hack.  It  didn't  last  long  either;  for  he  was 
just  as  punk  a  performer  at  that  as  he  ever 
was  at  any  of  the  other  things  he's  tackled. 

Gettin'  the  can  tied  to  him  was  always  Skeet 's 
specialty.  No  mystery  about  that,  either;  for 
of  all  the  useless  specimens  that  ever  grafted 
cigarettes  he  was  about  the  limit.  All  he  lacks 
is  pep  and  bean  and  a  few  other  trifles.  You 
wouldn't  exactly  call  him  ornamental,  either. 
No,  him  and  that  Apolloniris  guy  was  quite 
diff'rent  in  their  front  and  side  elevation. 
Mostly  arms  and  legs,  Skeet  is,  and  sort  of 
swivel- jointed  all  over,  with  a  back  slope  to 
his  forehead  and  an  under-cut  chin.  Nothin' 
reticent  about  his  beak,  though.  It  juts  out  from 
the  middle  of  his  face  like  the  handle  of  a  lovin' 
cup,  and  with  his  habit  of  stretchin'  his  neck 
forward  he  always  seems  to  be  folio  win'  a  scent, 
like  one  of  these  wienerwurst  retrievers. 

Brought  up  somewhere  back  of  Jefferson 
Market,  down  in  old  Greenwich  Village — if  you 
know  where  that  is.  He's  the  only  boy  in  a 
fam'ly  of  five,  and  I  understand  all  the  Keyser 
girls  have  done  first  rate;  one  bein'  forelady 
in  a  big  hair-dressin'  joint,  another  married  to 
the  lieutenant  of  a  hook  and  ladder  company, 
and  two  well  placed  in  service. 

It  was  through  bein'  in  on  a  little  mix-up 
Skeet  had  with  one  of  his  sisters  that  I  got  so 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY       9£ 

well  posted  on  the  fam'ly  hist'ry.  Must  have 
been  more  'n  a  year  ago,  while  Old  Hickory  was 
laid  up  at  home  there  for  a  spell,  and  I  was 
chasin'  back  and  forth  from  the  Corrugated  to 
the  Ellins  house  most  every  day.  This  time  I 
hears  a  debate  goin'  on  down  at  the  area  door, 
and  the  next  thing  I  knows  out  comes  Skeet, 
assisted  active  by  the  butler. 

Seems  that  one  of  the  new  maids  is  his  sister 
Maggie,  and  he'd  just  been  callin'  friendly  in 
the  hopes  of  sep'ratin'  her  from  a  dollar  or 
so.  It  wa'n't  Maggie's  day  for  contributin'  to 
the  prodigal  son  fund,  though,  and  Skeet  was 
statin'  his  opinion  of  her  reckless  when  the  but- 
ler interfered.  Come  near  losin'  Maggie  her 
job,  that  little  scene  did;  but  she  promises 
faithful  it  sha'n't  happen  again,  and  was 
kept  on. 

1 '  Blast  her ! ' '  says  Skeet  to  me  later.  ' '  She 's 
just  as  bad  as  the  rest  of  'em.  They're  all  tight- 
wads. Why,  even  the  old  lady  runs  me  out  now 
when  I  happen  to  be  carryin'  the  banner  and. 
can't  come  across  with  my  little  old  five  of  a 
Saturday  night !  I  might  starve  in  the  streets 
for  all  they  care.  But  I'll  show  'em  some  day. 
You '11  see!" 

Hanged  if  it  don't  look  like  he'd  turned  the 
trick  too;  for,  as  I've  hinted,  Skeet  is  costumed 
like  a  lily  of  the  field.  But  how  he'd  managed 
to  do  it  is  what  gets  me.  And  for  two  dayat 


100  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

after  that  I  wasted  valuable  time  tryin'  to  frame 
up  just  where  in  the  gen'ral  scheme  of  things  a 
party  like  Skeet  Keyser  could  connect  with  real 
money.  After  that  I  gave  up  the  myst'ry  and 
spent  my  spare  minutes  wonderin'  if  I  could  do 
this  "One-two-three — hold!"  business  as  suc- 
cessful in  public  as  I  could  while  them  dancin' 
school  fairies  was  drillin'  it  into  my  nut  at  one- 
fifty  per  throw. 

That's  right,  grin!  But  if  you're  billed  to 
mingle  in  the  merry  throng  at  a  dance  f  est,  you 
ain't  goin'  to  trot  out  on  the  floor  with  any  such 
antique  act  as  last  season's  Boston  dip,  are  you? 
Might  as  well  spring  the  minuet.  And  specially 
when  I'd  had  word  that  among  others  was  to  be 
a  certain  party.  Uh-huh !  You  can  play  it  both 
ways  too  that  Vee  would  be  up  on  the  very  lat- 
est, and  if  it  was  in  me  I  meant  to  be  right  be- 
hind her. 

Was  I?  Say,  maybe  if  I  wa'n't  so  blamed 
modest  I  could  give  you  an  idea  of  how  Vee  and 
I  just  naturally — but  I  can't  do  it.  Besides, 
there's  other  matters;  the  grand  jolt  that  come 
early  in  the  evenin',  for  instance.  It  was  after 
the  second  number,  and  I'd  made  a  dash  into 
the  gents'  dressin'  room  to  see  if  my  white  tie 
showed  any  symptoms  of  ridin'  up  in  the  back, 
and  I'd  just  strolled  out  into  the  entrance  hall 
again,  watchin'  the  push  straggle  in,  when  who 
should  show  up  through  the  double  doors  but 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY     101 

a  tall,  lanky  young  chap  with  lop  ears  and  a 
nose  one  was  bound  to  remember. 

It 's  Skeet  Keyser ;  Skeet  in  shiny,  thin-soled 
pumps,  a  pleated  dress  shirt,  black  silk  vest,  and 
a  top  hat !  He's  bein'  bowed  in  dignified  by  the 
same  butler,  and  is  passed  on  to — well,  it's  a 
funny  world,  ain't  it?  The  maid  on  duty  just 
inside  the  door  happens  to  be  Sister  Maggie. 
She  has  the  respectful  bow  all  ready  when  she 
gets  a  full-face  view. 

"Aloysius!"  says  she,  scared  and  husky. 

I  got  to  hand  it  to  Skeet,  though,  that  he  bears 
up  noble.  All  he  does  is  to  try  to  swallow  his 
throat  apple  a  couple  of  times,  and  then  he 
stares  at  her  stern  and  distant.  Also  Maggie 
makes  a  quick  recovery. 

"Gentlemen  this  way,  Sir,"  says  she,  and 
waves  Skeet  into  the  dressin'  room. 

I  wanted  to  follow  him  up  and  tip  him  off 
that  there's  one  or  two  other  reasons  why  this 
was  the  wrong  house  to  put  over  any  sporty 
bluff  in;  but  as  it  was  I'm  overdue  in  another 
quarter.  You  see,  Marjorie  has  been  sittin' 
out  on  the  side  lines,  as  usual,  and  Vee  has 
hinted  how  it  would  be  nice  and  charitable  of 
me  to  brace  her  for  a  spiel.  I'd  sort  of  been 
workin'  myself  up  to  the  sacrifice,  for  you  know 
Marjorie 's  some  hefty  partner  for  anybody  not 
in  trainin'  to  steer  around  a  ballroom  floor; 
but  I'd  figured  out  that  the  longer  I  put  it  off 


102          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

the  worse  it  would  be.  So  off  I  trails  with  my 
heels  draggin'  a  little  heavy. 

"Why,  thanks  ever  so  much,  Torchy,"  says 
she,  "but  I  think  I  have  a  partner  for  the  first 
four  or  five.  After  that,  though " 

"Don't  mention  it,"  says  I.  "I  mean,  much 
obliged,"  and  I  backs  off  hasty  before  she  can 
change  her  mind. 

I  had  to  kill  time  while  Vee  was  dividin'  a 
couple  dances  between  two  young  shrimps;  so 
I  sidles  into  a  corner  where  Ferdie  sits  behind 
his  shell-rimmed  glasses,  lookin'  bored  and  lone- 
some. 

"Now  don't  you  wish  you'd  gone  and  had 
your  feet  educated!"  says  I. 

Ferdie  yawns.  "I  think  it  quite  sufficient," 
says  he,  "that  one  of  us  intends  making  an 
exhibition.  Marjorie  has  been  taking  lessons, 
you  know. ' ' 

"So  I  hear,"  says  I.  "And  it's  all  right  if 
she  don't  tackle  the  maxixe.  Hello!  There  it 
goes.  Now  you  will  see  some  stunts!" 

Yep,  we  did !  And  among  the  first  couples  to 
sail  out  on  the  floor,  if  you'll  believe  it,  was  none 
other  than  Marjorie  and  our  lop-eared  young 
hero,  Skeet  Keyser. 

"Oh,  Gosh!"  I  groans.  "Don't  look,  Fer- 
die!" 

I  meant  well  too.  It  was  goin'  to  be  bad 
enough  to  see  a  corn-fed  young  matron  the  size 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY     103 

of  Marjorie,  who  can  spin  the  arrow  well  up 
to  the  hundred  and  eighty  mark,  monkey  with 
them  twisty  evolutions ;  but  to  have  her  get  let 
in  for  it  with  a  roughneck  ringer  like  Skeet — 
well,  that  was  goin'  to  be  a  real  tragedy.  How 
he'd  worked  it,  or  what  his  excuse  was  for  bein' 
here  at  all,  was  useless  questions  to  ask  then. 
What  was  comin'  next  was  the  thing  to  watch 
for. 

As  for  Ferdie,  he  just  sits  there  and  blinks, 
followin'  'em  through  his  spare  panes.  Course 
I  could  guess  he  wa'n't  hep  to  any  facts  about 
Skeet.  He  was  just  a  strange  young  gent  to 
him,  and  it  wa'n't  up  to  me  to  add  any  details. 
So  I  settles  back  and  watches  'em  too. 

And,  say,  you  know  how  surprised  you'd  be 
to  see  any  fat  friend  of  yours  buckle  on  a  pair 
of  ice  skates  and  do  the  double  grapevine  up 
and  down  the  rink?  Well,  that's  the  identical 
kind  of  jar  I  got  when  Marjorie  begins  that 
willowy  bendy  figure.  It  ain't  any  waddly  cari- 
cature of  it,  either.  It's  the  real  thing.  Hon- 
est, she's  as  light  on  her  feet  as  if  her  middle 
name  was  Pavlowa! 

At  the  same  time  it's  lucky  Skeet  has  arms 
long  enough  to  reach  'way  round  when  he'43" 
steerin'  her.  If  they'd  been  an  inch  or  so 
shorter,  he'd  have  had  to  break  his  clinch  in 
some  of  them  whirls,  and  then  there 'd  been  a 
big  dent  in  the  floor.  He  seems,  just  built  for 


104:          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

the  job,  though.  In  and  out,  round  and  round, 
through  the  Parisienne,  the  flirtation,  and  all 
the  other  frills,  he  pilots  her  safe,  bendin'  and 
swayin'  to  the  music,  his  number  ten  feet  glidin' 
easy,  and  kind  of  a  smirky,  satisfied  look  on  that 
sappy  mug  of  his;  while  Marjorie,  she  simply 
lets  herself  go  for  all  she 's  worth,  her  eyes  spar- 
klin',  and  the  pink  and  white  in  her  cheeks 
showin'  clear  and  fresh. 

Take  it  from  me  too,  it's  some  swell  exhibit! 
There  was  four  or  five  other  couples  on  at  the 
same  time,  the  girls  all  slender,  wispy  young 
things,  that  never  split  out  a  waist  seam  in 
their  lives;  but  Marjorie  and  her  partner  had 
the  gallery  right  with  'em.  Two  or  three  times 
durin'  the  dance  they  got  scatterin'  applause, 
and  when  the  music  fin'lly  stops,  leavin'  'em 
alone  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  they  got  a 
reg'lar  big  hand. 

"I  take  it  all  back,"  says  I  to  Ferdie.  "That 
was  real  classy  spielin'.  Now  wa'n't  it?" 

"No  doubt,"  he  grunts.  "And  I  suppose  I 
should  be  thankful  that  Marjorie  didn't  try  to 
jump  through  a  paper  hoop.  I  trust,  however, 
that  this  concludes  the  performance." 

It  did  not !  Next  on  the  card  was  a  onestep, 
with  Marjorie  and  her  unknown  goin'  to  it  like 
professionals;  and  if  they  omitted  any  fancy 
waves,  you  couldn't  prove  it  by  me.  By  this 
time  too,  Ferdie  was  sittin'  up  and  takin'  notice 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY     105 

"Oh,  I  say,"  says  he,  "isn't  that  the  same 
fellow  she  danced  with  before  1 ' ' 

"You  don't  think  a  bunch  of  works  like  that 
could  be  twins,  do  you?"  says  I. 

"But — but  I'm  sure  I  don't  remember  hav- 
ing met  him,  you  know,"  says  Ferdie,  rubbin' 
his  chin  thoughtful. 

"Then maybe  you  ain't,"  says  I. 

When  they  comes  on  for  a  third  time,  though, 
and  prances  through  about  as  flossy  a  half-and- 
half  as  I've  ever  seen  pulled  at  a  private  dance, 
Ferdie  is  some  agitated  in  the  mind.  He  ain't 
exactly  green-eyed,  but  he's  some  disturbed. 
Yes,  all  of  that! 

"I — I  think  I'd  best  speak  to  Marjorie,"  says 
he. 

"You'll  have  plenty  of  competition,"  says  I. 
"Look!" 

For  the  young  chappies  are  crowdin'  around 
her  two  deep,  makin'  dates  for  the  next  num- 
bers. Ferdie  stares  at  the  spectacle  puzzled. 
He's  a  persistent  messer,  though. 

"But  really,"  he  goes  on,  "I  think  I  ought  to 
meet  that  young  fellow  and  find  out  who 
he  is." 

"Ah,  bottle  it  up  until  afterwards!"  says  I. 
"Don't  rock  the  skiff." 

But  there 's  a  streak  of  mule  in  Ferdie  a  foot 
wide.  "People  will  be  asking  me  who  he  is!" 
he  insists,  "and  if  I  don't  know,  what  will 


106          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

they  think?  See,  isn't  that  he,  standing  just 
over  there?" 

And  then  Mr.  Robert  has  to  drift  along  and 
complicate  matters  by  joshin'  brother-in-law 
a  little.  "Congratulations  on  your  substitute, 
Ferdie, ' '  says  he.  ' '  Where  did  he  come  from ! ' ' 

Which  brings  a  ruddy  tint  into  Ferdie 's  ears. 
"Ask  Marjorie,"  says  he.  "I'm  sure  he's  an 
utter  stranger  to  me." 

"  Wha-a-at?"  says  Mr.  Robert,  and  when  he's 
had  the  full  situation  mapped  out  for  him 
blamed  if  he  don't  begin  to  take  it  serious 
too. 

"To  be  sure,  Ferdie,"  says  he.  "Everyone 
seems  to  think  he  must  be  a  guest  of  yours; 
but  as  he  isn't — well,  it's  quite  time  someone 
discovered.  Let's  go  over  and  introduce  our- 
selves." 

And  somehow  that  didn't  listen  good  to  me, 
either.  Marjorie's  done  a  lot  of  nice  turns  for 
me,  and  this  looked  like  it  was  my  play  to  lend 
a  hand. 

<aWith  two  or  three  more,"  says  I,  "you 
•could  form  a  perfectly  good  mob,  couldn't 
you?" 

Mr.  Robert  whirls  and  demands  sarcastic, 
"Well,  what  would  you  suggest,  young  man?" 

"He's  got  all  the  earmarks  of  a  reg'lar  in- 
vited guest,  ain't  he?"  says  I.  "And  unless 
you're  achin'  to  start  something  why  not  let 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY     107 

me  handle  this  'Who  the  blazes  are  you?' 
act?" 

He  sees  the  point  too,  Mr.  Eobert  does.  He 
shrugs  his  shoulders  and  grins.  "That's  so," 
says  he.  "All  right,  Torchy.  Full  diplomatic 
powers,  and  if  necessary  I  shall  restrain  Fer- 
die  by  the  collar." 

I  wa'n't  wastin'  time  on  any  subtle  strategy, 
though.  Walkin'  over  to  Skeet  I  taps  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  then  it's  his  turn  to  gawp  at 
my  costume. 

"Why,"  he  gasps,  "how — er — where  did 
you " 

'  *  Oh,  I  brought  myself  out  last  season, ' '  says 
I.  "But  just  a  minute,  if  you  don't  mind," 
and  I  jerks  my  thumb  towards  the  dressin' 
room. 

* '  But,  you  know, ' '  he  begins,  '  *  I — I ' ' 

"Ah,  ditch  the  shifty  stuff!"  says  I.  "This 
is  orders  from  headquarters.  Come!" 

And  he  trots  right  along.  Once  I  gets  him 
behind  the  draperies  I  shoots  it  at  him  straight. 
"Who'd  you  pinch  the  invite  from?"  says  I. 

"See  here,  now!"  he  comes  back  peevish. 
"You  have  no  call  to  say  that.  I  had  a  bid, 
all  right ;  got  it  with  me.  There !  What  about 
that  ? ' '  And  he  flashes  a  card  on  me. 

It's  one  of  Marjorie's! 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "Met  her  at  Mrs.  Astor's, 
I  expect?" 


108          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Skeet  shuffles  his  feet  and  tries  to  look  indig- 
nant. 

"Come  on,  give  us  the  plot  of  the  piece," 
says  I,  "or  I'll  call  up  Sister  Maggie  and  put 
her  on  the  stand.  "Where  was  it,  now?" 

"If  you  must  know,"  says  Skeet  sulky,  "it 
was  at  Roselle's." 

"The  tango  factory?"  says  I.  "Oh,  I'm 
beginnin'  to  get  the  thread.  The  place  where 
she's  been  takin'  lessons,  eh?" 

Skeet  nods. 

"Is  this  romance,  or  business,  then?"  says  I. 

' ' Think  I 'm  a  fathead ? ' '  says  he.  "I 'm  get- 
tin'  fifteen  for  this,  and  I'm  earnin'  the  money 
too.  It's  a  regular  thing.  Last  night  I  was 
Cousin  Harry  for  an  old  maid  from  Washing- 
ton— went  to  a  swell  house  dance  up  on  River- 
side Drive.  She  came  across  with  twenty  for 
that,  and  paid  for  the  taxi." 

' '  Well,  well ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  Then  them  long  legs 
of  yours  has  turned  out  a  good  asset  after  all. 
"What  you  pullin'  down,  Skeet,  on  an  aver- 
age?" 

"Twenty  regular,  and  a  hundred  or  so  on 
the  side,"  says  he,  swellin'  his  chest  out. 
"And,  say,  I  guess  I  got  it  some  on  the  rest 
of  the  family.  You  know  how  they  used  me, — 
like  dirt,  the  old  lady  callin'  me  a  loafer,  and 
Annie  so  stuck  up  on  livin'  in  an  elevator 
apartment  she  wouldn't  have  me  around.  Mag- 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY     109 

gie  too !  Didn't  I  hand  it  to  her,  though?  No- 
tice me  frost  her,  eh?  But  I  said  I'd  show  'em 
some  day.  Guess  I've  delivered  the  goods. 
Look  at  me  now,  all  dolled  up  every  night,  and 
mixin'  with  the  best  people!  Say,  you  watch 
me!  Why,  I  can  go  out  there  and  pick  any 
queen  you  want  to  name.  They're  crazy  about 
me.  I  could  show  you  mash  notes  and  photos 
too.  Oh,  I'm  Winning  Willie  with  the  fluffs, 
I  am!" 

Well,  it  was  worth  listenin'  to.  He  struts 
around  waggin'  his  silly  head,  until  I  can 
hardly  keep  from  throwin'  a  chair  at  him. 
Course  something  had  to  be  dealt  out.  He 
needed  it  bad.  So  I  sizes  him  up  rapid  an'd 
makes  the  first  play  that  comes  into  my 
head. 

"You're  a  wonder,  Skeet,"  says  I.  "And 
it's  a  great  game  as  long  as  you  can  get 
away  with  it.  But  whisper!"  Here  I  glances 
around  cautious.  "You  know  I'm  a  friend  of 
yours." 

' '  Oh,  sure, ' '  says  he  careless.    *  *  What  then  ? ' ' 

' '  Only  this, ' '  says  I.  '  *  Here 's  once  when  I  'm 
afraid  you're  about  to  pull  down  trouble." 

"How's  that?"  says  he,  twistin'  his  neck  un- 
easy. 

"Notice  the  two  gents  I  was  just  talkin' 
with,"  I  goes  on,  "specially  the  savage-lookin' 
one  with  the  framed  lamps?  Well,  that  was 


110          TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

Hubby.  He 's  got  one  of  these  hair-trigger  dis- 
positions too." 

"Pooh!"  says  Skeet.  But  he's  listenin' 
close. 

"I'm  only  tellin'  you,"  says  I.  "Then  the 
big  one  with  the  wide  shoulders — that's 
Brother.  Eeg'lar  brute,  he  is,  and  a  tem- 
per  " 

That  gets  him  stary  eyed.  "You — you  don't 
mean,"  says  he,  "that " 

"Uh-huh!"  says  I.  "You  know  you  and 
the  young  lady  was  some  conspicuous.  There's 
been  talk  all  round  the  room.  They've  both 
heard,  and  they're  beefin'  something  awful. 
Course  I  ain't  sayin'  they'll  spring  any  gunplay 
right  in  the  house;  but — why,  what's  wrong, 
Skeet  I" 

Honest,  he's  gone  putty  faced  and  pan- 
icky. He  begins  pawin'  around  for  his  over- 
coat. 

"Ain't  goin'  so  soon,  are  you,"  says  I,  "with- 
out breakin'  a  few  more  hearts?" 

"I — I'm  goin'  to  get  out  of  here!"  says  he, 
his  teeth  chattery.  He'd  grabbed  his  silk  lid 
and  was  makin'  a  dash  for  the  front  door  when 
I  stopped  him. 

1 1  Not  that  way,  for  the  love  of  soup ! ' '  says  I. 
"They'll  be  layin'  for  you  there.  Why  not 
bluff  it  out  and  cut  up  with  some  of  the  other 
queens I ' ' 


WHEN  SKEET  HAD  HIS  DAY     111 

* '  I  'm  not  feeling  well, ' '  says  he.  * ;  I — I  'm  go- 
ing, I  tell  you ! ' ' 

"If  you  insist,  then,"  says  I,  "perhaps  I  can 
sneak  you  out.  Here,  this  way.  Now  slide  in 
behind  that  portiere  until  I  find  one  of  the 
maids.  Oh,  here 's  one  now.  S-s-s-t!  That  you, 
Maggie?  Well,  smuggle  Mr.  Keyser  out  the 
back  way,  will  you?  And  if  you  don't  want 
to  witness  bloodshed,  do  it  quick!" 

I  tipped  her  the  wink  over  his  shoulder,  and 
the  last  glimpse  I  had  of  Skeet  he  was  bein' 
hustled  and  shoved  towards  the  back  way  by 
willin'  hands. 

By  the  time  I  gets  back  into  the  ballroom  I 
finds  Marjorie  right  in  the  midst  of  a  fam'ly 
court  martial.  She's  makin'  a  full  confession. 

"Of  course  I  hired  him,"  she's  sayin'  to 
Brother  Robert.  "Why?  Because  I've  been 
a  wall  flower  at  too  many  dances,  and  I  'm  tired 
of  it.  No,  I  don 't  know  who  he  is,  I  'm  sure ; 
but  he's  a  perfectly  lovely  dancer.  I  wonder 
where  he's  disappeared  to?" 

Which  seemed  to  be  my  cue  to  report.  * '  Mr. 
Keyser  presents  his  compliments,"  says  I, 
"and  begs  to  be  excused  for  the  rest  of  the 
evenin'  on  account  of  feelin'  suddenly  indis- 
posed. He  says  you  can  send  him  that  fifteen 
by  mail,  if  you  like." 

"Well,  the  idea!"  gasps  Marjorie. 

As  for  Mr.  Eobert,  he  chuckles.    Takin'  me 


112          TOUCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

one  side,  he  asks  confidential,  "What  did  you 
use  on  our  young  friend,  persuasion,  or  assault 
with  intent?" 

"On  a  fish-face  like  that?"  says  I.    "Nope. 
This  was  just  a  simple  case  of  spill." 


CHAPTER  VII 

GETTING  A  JOLT  FROM   WESTY 

You  might  call  it  time  out,  or  suspended  hos- 
tilities durin'  peace  negotiations,  or  anything 
like  that.  Anyway,  Aunty  has  softened  up  to 
the  extent  of  lettin'  me  come  around  once  a 
week  without  makin'  me  assume  a  disguise,  or 
crawl  in  through  the  coal  chute.  Course  I'm 
still  under  suspicion;  but  while  the  ban  ain't 
lifted  complete  she  don't  treat  me  quite  so 
much  like  a  porch  climber  or  a  free  speech 
agitator. 

"Remember,"  says  she,  "Friday  evenings 
only,  from  half  after  eight  until  not  later  than 
ten." 

"Yes'm,"  says  I,  "and  it's  mighty " 

"Please!"  she  breaks  in.  "No  grotesquely 
phrased  effusions  of  gratitude.  I  am  merely 
indulging  Verona  in  one  of  her  absurd  whims. 
You  understand  that,  I  trust?" 

"I  get  your  idea,"  says  I,  "and  even  if  it 
don't  swell  my  chest  any,  I'm " 

"Kindly  refrain  from  using  such  patois, >T 
says  Aunty. 

113 


114  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "You  mean  ditch  the  gabby 
talk?  All  right,  Ma'am." 

Aunty  rolls  her  eyes  and  sighs  hopeless. 
"How  my  niece  can  find  entertainment  in 

such "  Here  Aunty  stops  and  shrugs  her 

shoulders.  "Well,"  she  goes  on,  "it  is  a  mys- 
tery to  me." 

"Me  too,"  says  I;  "so  for  once  we're  playin' 
on  the  same  side  of  the  net,  ain't  we!  Say, 
but  she's  some  girl  though!" 

Aunty's  mouth  corners  wrinkle  into  one  of 
them  sarcastic  smiles  that's  her  specialty,  and 
she  remarks  careless:  "Quite  a  number  of 
young  men  seem  to  have  discovered  that 
Verona  is  rather  attractive." 

"They'd  have  to  be  blind  in  both  eyes  and 
born  without  ears  if  they  didn't,"  says  I,  "be- 
lieve me ! " 

Oh,  yes,  we  had  a  nice  confidential  little  chat, 
me  and  Aunty  did, — almost  chummy,  you  know, 
— and  as  it  breaks  up  and  I  backs  out  into 
the  hall,  givin'  her  the  polite  "Good  evenin', 
Ma'am,"  I  thought  I  heard  a  half -smothered 
snicker  behind  the  draperies.  Maybe  it  was 
that  flossy  French  maid  of  theirs.  But  I  floats 
downtown  as  gay  and  chirky  as  though  I'd 
been  promoted  to  first  vice-president  of  some- 
thing. 

Course  I  was  wise  to  the  fact  that  Aunty 
wa'n't  arrangin'  any  duo  act  with  the  lights 


shaded  soft.  Not  her!  Even  if  I  had  an  offi- 
cial ratin'  in  the  Corrugated  now,  and  a  few 
weeks  back  had  shunted  her  off  from  a  losin' 
stock  deal,  she  wa'n't  tryin'  to  decoy  me  into 
the  fam'ly.  Hardly!  I  could  guess  how  she'd 
set  the  stage  for  my  weekly  call,  and  if  I  found 
myself  with  anything  more  than  a  walk-on  part 
in  a  mob  scene  I'd  be  lucky. 

You  know  she's  taken  a  house  for  the  win- 
ter, one  of  them  old-fashioned  brownstone 
fronts  up  on  Madison-ave.  that  some  friends 
of  hers  was  goin'  to  close  durin'  a  tour  abroad. 
Nothin'  swell,  but  real  comfy  and  substantial, 
and  as  I  marches  up  bold  for  my  first  push  at 
the  bell  button  I'm  kind  of  relieved  that  I  don't 
have  to  stand  in  line. 

Who  should  I  get  a  glimpse  of,  though,  as 
I'm  handin'  my  things  to  the  butler,  but  the 
favored  candidate,  Sappy  Westlake?  Yep,  big 
as  life,  with  his  slick,  pale  hair,  his  long  legs, 
and  his  woodeny  face !  Looked  like  his  admis- 
sion card  must  have  been  punched  for  eight 
P.M.,  or  else  he'd  been  asked  for  dinner.  Any- 
way, he  was  right  on  the  ground,  thumpin'  out 
a  new  rag  on  the  piano,  and  enjoyin'  the  full 
glare  of  the  limelight.  The  only  other  entry 
I  can  discover  is  a  girl. 

"My  friend  Miss  Ull,"  explains  Vee. 

A  good  deal  of  a  queen  Miss  Ull  is  too,  tall 
and  slim  and  tinted  up  delicate,  but  one  of  these 


116          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

pouting  peevish  beauts  that  can  look  you  over 
cold  and  distant  and  say  "Howdy  do"  in  such 
a  bored,  tired  tone  that  you  feel  like  apologizin' 
for  the  intrusion. 

They  didn't  get  wildly  enthusiastic  over  my 
entrance,  Miss  Till  and  Westy.  In  fact,  al- 
most before  the  honors  are  done  they  turns 
their  backs  on  me  and  drifts  to  the  piano  once 
more. 

"Do  play  that  'Try-trimmer-Traumerei' 
thing  again,"  urges  Miss  Ull,  and  begins  to 
hum  it  as  Westy  proceeds  to  bang  it  out. 

But  there's  Vee,  her  wheat-colored  hair 
fluffin'  about  her  seashell  ears  and  her  big  gray 
eyes  watchin'  me  sort  of  quizzin'  and  impish. 
"Well,  Mr.  Private  Secretary?"  says  she. 

"When  does  the  rest  of  the  chorus  come  on?" 
says  I. 

"The  what?"  says  Vee. 

"The  full  panel,"  says  I.  "Aunty's  planned 
to  have  the  S.  E.  0.  sign  out  on  my  evenin's, 
ain't  she?" 

At  which  Vee  tosses  her  head.  "How  silly!" 
says  she.  "No  one  else  is  expected  that  I  know 
of.  Why?" 

"Oh,  she  might  think  we'd  be  lonesome," 
says  I.  "Honest,  I  was  lookin'  for  a  bunch; 
but  if  it's  only  a  mixed  foursome,  that  ain't  so 
bad.  I  got  the  scheme,  though.  She  counts 
Westy  as  better  than  a  crowd.  'Safety  First* 


GETTING  A  JOLT  FROM  WESTY      117 

is  her  motto.  But  who's  the  Peevish  Priscilla 
here,  that 's  so  tickled  to  see  me  come  in  she  has 
to  turn  away  to  hide  her  emotion?" 

11  Doris?"  says  Vee.  "Oh,  we  got  to  know 
her  on  the  steamer  coming  back  from  the  Medi- 
terranean last  winter.  Stunning,  isn't  she!" 

"Specially  her  manners,"  says  I.  "Almost 
paralyzin'. " 

"Oh,  that's  just  her  way,"  says  Vee. 
"Really,  she's  very  nice  when  you  get  to  know 
her.  I'm  rather  sorry  for  her  too.  Her  home 
life  is — well,  not  at  all  congenial.  That's  one 
reason  why  I  asked  her  to  visit  me  for  a  week 
or  so." 

"That's  the  easiest  thing  you  do,  ain't  it," 
says  I,  "bein'  nice  to  folks  that  ain't  used  to 
it?" 

"Thank  goodness,"  says  Vee,  "someone  has 
discovered  my  angelic  qualities  at  last!  Go 
on,  Torchy,  think  of  some  more,  can't  you?" 
And  she  claps  her  hands  enthusiastic. 

"Quit  your  spoofin',"  says  I,  "or  I'll  ring 
for  Aunty  and  tell  how  you've  been  kiddin'  the 
guest  of  honor.  I  might  talk  easier  too,  if  we 
could  adjourn  to  the  window  alcove  over  there. 
No  rule  against  that,  is  there?" 

Didn't  seem  to  be.  And  we'd  have  had  a 
perfectly  good  chat  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Doris. 
Such  a  restless  young  female !  First  she  wants 
to  drum  something  out  on  the  piano  herself. 


118  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Then  she  must  have  Vee  come  show  her  how  it 
ought  to  go.  Next  she  wants  to  practice  a  new 
fancy  dance,  and  so  on.  She  keeps  Westy  trot- 
tin'  around,  and  Vee  comin'  and  goin',  and 
things  stirred  up  gen 'rally.  One  minute  she's 
gigglin'  hysterical  over  nothin'  at  all,  and  the 
next  she's  poutin'  sulky. 

Anyway,  she  managed  to  queer  the  best  part 
of  the  evenin',  and  I'd  just  settled  down  with 
Vee  in  a  corner  when  the  big  hall  clock  starts 
to  chime  ten,  and  in  through  the  draperies 
marches  Aunty.  It  ain't  any  accidental  drop- 
pin'  in,  either.  She  glances  at  me  stern  and 
suggestive  and  nods  towards  the  door.  So 
it  was  all  over! 

'  *  Say, ' '  I  whispers  to  Vee  as  I  does  a  draggy 
exit,  ''if  Doris  is  to  be  with  us  again,  would 
you  mind  my  bringin'  a  clothesline  and  ropin' 
her  to  the  piano  ? ' ' 

Maybe  it  wa'n't  some  discouragin'  a  week 
later  to  find  the  same  pair  still  on  the  job,  with 
Doris  as  much  of  a  peace  disturber  as  ever.  I 
got  a  little  more  of  her  history  sketched  out 
by  Vee  that  night.  Seems  that  Doris  didn't 
really  belong,  for  all  her  airs.  Her  folks  had 
only  lived  up  in  the  West  70 's  for  four  or  five 
years,  and  before  that 

"Well,  you  know,"  says  Vee,  archin'  her  eye- 
brows expressive,  "on  the  East  Side  some- 
where." 


GETTING  A  JOLT  FROM  WESTY     119 

You  see,  Father  had  been  comin'  strong  in 
business  of  late, — antiques  and  house  deco- 
ratin'.  I  remember  havin'  seen  the  name  over 
the  door  of  his  big  Fifth-ave.  shop, — Leo 
Till.  You  know  there's  about  five  hundred  per 
cent,  profit  in  that  game  when  you  get  it  goin', 
and  while  Pa  Till  might  have  started  small,  in 
an  East  14th  Street  basement,  with  livin'  rooms 
in  the  rear,  he  kept  branchin'  out, — gettin'  to 
Fourth-ave.,  and  fin'lly  to  Fifth,  jumpin'  from 
a  flat  to  an  apartment,  and  from  that  to  a 
reg'lar  house. 

So  the  two  boys  went  to  college,  and  later 
on  little  Doris,  with  long  braids  down  her  back 
and  weeps  in  her  eyes,  is  sent  off  to  a  girls' 
boardin'  school.  By  the  time  her  turn  came 
too,  the  annual  income  was  runnin'  into  six 
figures.  Besides,  Doris  was  the  pet.  And  when 
Pa  and  Ma  Ull  sat  down  to  pick  out  a  young 
ladies'  culture  fact'ry  for  her  the  process  was 
simple.  They  discarded  all  but  three  of  the 
catalogues,  savin'  them  that  was  printed  on 
the  thickest  paper  and  havin'  the  most  halftone 
pictures,  and  then  put  the  tag  on  the  one  where 
the  rates  was  highest.  Near  Washington,  I 
think  it  was;  anyway,  somewhere  South, — 
board  and  tuition,  two  thousand  dollars  and 
up;  everything  extra,  from  lead  pencils  to  les- 
sons in  court  etiquette;  and  the  young  ladies 
limited  to  ten  new  evenin'  dresses  a  term. 


120          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Maybe  you've  seen  products  of  such  exclu- 
sive establishments  ?  And  if  you  have  perhaps 
you  can  frame  up  a  faint  picture  of  what  Doris 
was  like  after  four  years  at  Hetherington  Hall 
and  a  five  months'  trip  abroad  chaperoned  by 
the  Baroness  Parcheezi.  No  wonder  she  didn't 
find  home  a  happy  spot  after  that ! 

"Her  brothers  are  quite  nice,  I  believe,"  says 
Vee.  "They're  both  married,  though.  Mr.  Till 
is  not  so  bad,  either, — a  little  crude  perhaps; 
but  he  has  learned  to  wear  a  frock  coat  in  the 
shop  and  not  to  talk  to  lady  customers  when 
he  has  a  cigar  between  his  teeth.  But  Mrs. 
Ull— well,  she  hasn't  kept  up,  that's  all." 

"Still  on  East  14th  Street,  eh?"  says  I. 

Vee  admits  that  nearly  states  the  case. 
"And  of  course,"  she  goes  on,  "she  doesn't 
understand  Doris.  They  don't  get  on  at  all 
well.  So  when  Doris  told  me  how  lonely  and 
unhappy  she  was  at  home  and  begged  me  to 
visit  her  for  a  week  in  return — well,  what  could 
I  do?  I'm  going  back  with  her  Monday." 

"Then,"  says  I,  "I  see  where  I  cut  next 
Friday  off  the  calendar." 

"Unless,"  suggests  Vee,  droppin'  her  long 
eyelashes  coy,  "you  were  not  too  stupid  to 
think  of " 

"Say,"  I  breaks  in,  "gimme  that  number 
again,  will  you?  Suppose  I  could  duck  meetin' 
Westy  if  I  came  the  first  evenin'f" 


GETTING  A  JOLT  FEOM  WESTY     121 

1  'If  you're  at  all  afraid  of  him,  you  shouldn't 
run  the  risk, ' '  comes  back  Vee. 

1 '  Chance  is  my  middle  name, ' '  says  I.  l '  Only 
him  stickin'  around  does  make  a  room  so 
crowded.  I  didn't  know  but  he  might  miss  a 
night  occasionally." 

Vee  sticks  the  tip  of  her  tongue  out.  "Just 
two  during  the  last  ten  days,  if  you  want  to 
know,"  says  she. 

' '  Huh ! ' '  says  I.  '  i  Must  think  he  holds  a  sea- 
son ticket." 

I  couldn't  make  out,  either,  what  it  was  that 
Vee  seems  so  amused  over;  for  as  near  as  I 
can  judge  she  was  never  very  strong  for  Sappy 
herself.  Maybe  it  was  just  a  string  she  was 
handin'  me. 

Havin'  decided  on  that,  I  waits  patient  until 
eight-fifteen  Monday  evenin',  and  then  breezes 
cheery  and  hopeful  through  the  Tills'  front 
door  and  into  the  front  room.  No  Westy  in 
sight,  or  anybody  else.  The  maid  says  the 
young  ladies  are  in  somewhere,  and  she'll  tell 
'em  I've  come. 

So  I  wanders  about  amongst  the  furniture, 
that's  set  around  almost  as  thick  as  in  a  show- 
room,— heavy,  fancy  pieces,  most  likely  ones 
that  had  been  sent  up  from  the  store  as  stick- 
ers. The  samples  of  art  on  the  walls  struck 
me  as  a  bit  gaudy  too,  and  I  was  tryin'  to 
guess  how  it  would  seem  if  you  had  to  live 


122          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

in  that  sort  of  clutter  continual,  when  out 
through  the  slidin'  doors  from  the  lib'ry  ap- 
pears Sappy  the  Constant. 

"The  poor  prune!"  thinks  I.  "I  wonder  if 
I've  got  time  to  work  up  some  scheme  of  puttin' 
the  skids  under  him?" 

But  instead  of  givin'  me  the  haughty  stare  as 
usual  he  rushes  towards  me  smilin'  and  ex- 
cited. "Oh,  I  say!"  he  breaks  out.  "Torchy, 
isn't  it?  Well,  I — I've  got  a  big  piece  of 
news." 

'  *  I  know, ' '  says  I.  * '  Someone 's  told  you  that 
the  Panama  Canal 's  full  of  water. ' ' 

"No,  no!"  says  he.  "It — it's  about  me. 
Just  happened,  you  know.  And  really  I  must 
tell  someone." 

I  had  a  choky  sensation  in  my  throat  about 
then,  and  my  breath  came  a  little  short;  but 
I  managed  to  get  out  husky,  "Well,  toss  it 
over. ' ' 

Westy  beams  grateful.  "Isn't  it  wonder- 
ful?" says  he.  "I— I've  got  her!" 

"Eh?"  I  gasps,  grippin'  a  chair  back. 

"She  just  told  me,"  says  he,  "in  there. 
She's — she's  wearing  my  ring  now." 

Got  me  right  under  the  belt  buckle,  that  did. 
I  felt  wabbly  and  dizzy  for  a  second,  and  I 
expect  I  gawps  at  him  open  faced.  Then  I 
takes  a  brace.  Had  to.  I  don't  know  how  well 
I  did  it  either,  or  how  convincin'  it  sounded,  but 


GETTING  A  JOLT  FROM  WESTY      123 

I  found  myself  shakin'  him  by  the  mitt  and 
sayin':  "Congratulations,  Westlake.  You — 
you've  got  a  girl  worth  gettin',  believe  me!" 

"Thanks  awfully,  old  man,"  says  he,  still 
pumpin'  my  arm  up  and  down.  "I  can  hardly 
realize  it  myself.  Awfully  bad  case  I  had,  you 
know.  And  now,  while  I  have  the  courage,  I 
suppose  I'd  best  see  her  mother." 

"Wha-a-at?"  says  I,  starin'  at  him. 

"I  know,"  says  he,  "it  isn't  being  done  much 
nowadays,  but  somehow  I  think  I  ought.  You 
know  I  haven't  even  met  Mrs.  Till  as  yet." 

I  hope  he  was  so  fussed  he  didn't  notice  that 
sigh  of  relief  I  let  out;  for  I'll  admit  it  was 
some  able-bodied  affair, — a  good  deal  like  shut- 
tin'  off  the  air  in  a  brake  connection,  or  rippin' 
a  sheet.  Anyway,  I  made  up  for  it  the  next 
minute. 

"You  and  Doris,  eh?"  says  I,  poundin'  him 
on  the  back  hearty.  "Ain't  you  the  foxy  pair, 
though  ?  Well,  well !  Here,  let 's  have  another 
shake  on  that.  But  why  not  see  Father  and  tell 
him  about  it?  Know  the  old  gent,  don't 
you?" 

"Ye-e-es,"  says  Westy,  flushin'  a  bit.  "But 
he — well,  he's  her  father,  of  course.  She  can't 
help  that.  And  it  makes  no  difference  at  all 
to  me  if  he  isn't  really  refined — not  a  bit.  But 
— but  I'd  rather  not  talk  to  him  just  now.  I— -- 
I  prefer  to  see  Mrs.  Ull." 


124          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

I  can't  say  just  what  I  felt  so  friendly  and 
fraternal  to  him  about  then;  but  I  did. 
"Westy,"  says  I,  "take  my  advice  about  this 
hunch  of  yours  to  see  Mother.  Don't!" 

"But  really,"  he  insists,  "I  must  tell  one  or 
the  other,  don't  you  see.  And  unless  I  do  it 
right  away  I  know  I  never  can  at  all.  Besides 
I've  made  up  my  mind  that  Mrs.  Till  ought  to 
be  the  first  to  know.  I — I'm  going  to  ring  for 
the  maid  and  ask  to  see  her." 

"Good  nerve!"  says  I,  slappin'  him  on  the 
shoulder.  "In  that  case  I'll  just  slip  into  the 
back  room  there  and  shut  the  door. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  say!"  says  he,  glancin'  around  pan- 
icky. ' '  I — I  wish  you  'd  stay.  I — I  don 't  fancy 
facing  her  alone.  Please  stay!" 

"It  ain't  reg'lar,"  says  I. 

"I  don't  care,"  says  Westy,  pleadin'.  "You 
<;ould  sort  of  introduce  me,  you  know,  and — 
and  help  me  out  if  I  got  stuck.  You  would, 
wouldn't  you?" 

And  it  was  amazin'  how  diff' rent  I  felt  to- 
wards Westy  from  five  minutes  before.  His 
best  friend  couldn't  have  looked  on  him  fonder, 
or  promised  to  stand  by  him  closer.  I  calls  the 
maid  myself,  discovers  that  Mrs.  Ull  is  in  the 
upstairs  sittin'  room,  and  sends  the  message 
that  Mr.  Westlake  would  like  to  see  her  right 
off  about  something  important. 

"But  you  got  to  buck  up,  my  boy,"  says  I; 


GETTING  A  JOLT  FROM  WESTY     125 

"for  from  all  the  dope  I've  had  you've  got  a 
jolt  comin'  to  you." 

That  wa'n't  any  idle  rumor,  either.  He'd 
hardly  begun  pacin'  restless  in  and  out  among 
the  chairs  and  tables  before  we  hears  a  heavy 
pad-pad  on  the  stairs,  and  the  next  thing  we 
know  the  lady  is  standin'  in  the  door. 

Not  such  an  awful  stout  old  party  as  I'd 
looked  for,  nor  she  didn't  have  such  a  bad 
face ;  but  with  the  funny  way  she  has  her  hair 
bobbed  up,  and  the  weird  way  her  dress  fits 
her,  like  it  had  been  cut  out  left-handed  in  a 
blind  asylum — well,  she's  a  mess,  that's  all. 
It's  an  expensive  lookin'  outfit  too,  and  the 
jew'lry  display  around  her  lumpy  neck  and 
on  her  pudgy  fingers  was  enough  to  make  you 
blink ;  but  somehow  it  all  looked  out  of  place. 

For  a  second  she  stands  there  fingerin'  her 
rings  fidgety,  and  then  remarks  unexpected: 
"It's  about  Doris,  ain't  it?  Well,  young  feller, 
what  is  it  you  got  on  your  mind?" 

And  all  of  a  sudden  I  tumbles  to  the  fact  that 
she's  lookin'  straight  at  me.  Then  it  was  my 
turn  to  go  panicky.  "Excuse  me,  Ma'am," 
says  I  hasty,  "but  tEat's  the  guilty  party,  the 
one  over  by  the  fireplace.  Mr.  Westlake, 
Ma'am." 

"  Oh ! "  says  she.  *  *  That  one,  eh  ?  Well,  let 's 
have  it!"  and  with  that  she  paddles  over  to 
a  high-backed,  carved  mahogany  chair  and  set- 


126  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

ties  herself  sort  of  grim  and  defiant.  I  almost 
had  to  push  Westy  to  the  front  too. 

"I  expect  you've  talked  this  all  over  with 
her  father,  eh?"  she  goes  on.  "I'm  always 
the  last  to  get  wise  to  anything  that  goes  on  in 
this  house,  specially  if  it's  about  Doris.  Come, 
let's  have  it!" 

"But  I  haven't  seen  Mr.  Ull  at  all,"  protests 
Westy.  "It — it's  just  happened.  And  I 
thought  you  ought  to  know  first.  I  want  to 
ask  you,  Mrs.  Ull,  if  I  may  marry  Doris  ? ' ' 

We  wa'n't  lookin'  for  what  come  next,  either 
of  us ;  her  big  red  face  had  such  a  hard,  sullen 
look  on  it,  like  she  knew  we  was  sizin'  her  up 
•and  meant  to  show  us  she  didn't  give  a  hoot 
what  we  thought.  But  as  Westy  finishes  and 
bows  real  respectful,  holdin'  out  his  hand 
friendly,  the  change  come.  The  hard  lines 
around  her  mouth  softens,  the  narrowed  eyes 
widen  and  light  up,  and  her  stiff  under  jaw  gets 
trembly.  A  tear  or  so  trickles  foolish  down 
the  side  of  her  nose;  but  she  don't  pay  any  at- 
tention. She's  just  starin'  at  Westy. 

"You — you  wanted  me  to  know  first,  did 
you?"  says  she,  with  a  break  in  her  shrill, 
cackly  voice.  "Me?" 

"I  thought  it  only  right,"  says  Westy. 
"You're  Doris's  mother,  you  know,  and " 

"Good  boy!"  says  she,  reachin'  out  after  one 
of  his  hands  and  pattin'  it.  "I'm  glad  you  did 


GETTING  A  JOLT  FROM  WESTY     127 

too.  Doris,  she's  got  too  fine  for  her  old 
mother.  That  ain't  so  much  her  fault  as  it  is 
mine,  I  expect.  I'm  kind  of  rough,  and  a  good 
deal  behind  the  times.  I  ain't  kept  up,  not 
even  the  way  Leo  has.  But  then,  I  ain't  had 
the  chance.  I've  been  at  home,  lookin'  after 
the  boys  and — and  Doris.  I  saw  she  was  get- 
tin'  spoiled;  but  I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  bring 
her  home  and  stop  it.  She's  young,  though. 
She  '11  get  over  it.  You  '11  help  her.  Oh,  I  know 
about  you.  Quite  a  young  swell,  you  are;  but 
I  guess  you're  all  right.  And  I'm  glad  for 
Doris.  Maybe  too,  she'll  find  out  some  day  that 
her  rough  old  mother,  who  got  left  so  far  be: 
hind,  thinks  a  lot  of  her  still.  You — you'll  tell 
her  as  much  some  time  perhaps.  Won't  you?" 

Say,  take  it  from  me,  I  was  so  misty  in  the 
eyes  about  then,  and  so  choky  under  my  collar, 
that  I  couldn't  have  done  it  myself.  But  Westy 
did.  There's  a  heap  more  to  him  than  shows 
on  the  outside. 

"Mrs.  Ull,"  says  he,  "I  shall  tell  Doris  all 
of  that,  and  much  more.  And  I'm  sure  that 
both  of  us  are  going  to  be  very  fond  of  you. 
And  if  you  don 't  mind,  I  'm  going  to  begin  now 
to  call  you  Mother. ' ' 

Yes,  I  was  gettin'  a  little  uneasy  at  that 
stage.  I  hadn't  counted  on  bein'  let  in  for 
quite  such  a  close  fam'ly  scene.  And  when  the 
two  girls  showed  up  with  their  arms  locked 


128          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

about  each  other,  and  Vee  leads  Doris  up  to 
Mother  Till,  and  they  goes  to  a  three-cornered 
clinch,  sobbin'  on  one  another's  shoulder — 
well,  I  faded. 

On  the  way  home  I  was  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought  that  trickled  all  the  way  down  my  spine 
like  a  splinter  of  ice.  "If  I  ever  had  the  luck 
to  get  that  far,"  thinks  I,  "would  I  have  to  go 
through  any  such  an  act  with  Aunty?  Hel-lup, 
Hubert!  Hel-lup!" 


CHAPTER  VIH 

SOME   GUESSES   ON  BUBY 

WELL,  I'm  shocked  at  Ruby,  that's  all.  Also 
Iym  beginnin'  to  suspicion  I  ain't  such  a 
human-nature  dope  artist  as  I  thought,  for  I've 
made  at  least  three  fruity  forecasts  on  Ruby, 
and  the  returns  are  still  comin'  in. 

My  first  frame-up  was  natural  enough. 
When  this  goose-necked  young  female  with  the 
far-away  look  in  her  eyes  appeared  as  No.  7 
in  our  batt'ry  of  lady  typists,  and  I  heard  Mr. 
Robert  havin'  a  seance  tryin'  to  dictate  some 
of  the  mornin'  correspondence  to  her,  I  swung 
round  with  a  grin  on  my  face  and  took  a  second 
look.  She  was  fussed  and  scared. 

No  wonder;  for  Mr.  Robert  has  a  shorthand 
system  of  his  own  that  he  uses  in  dictatin'  let- 
ters. He'll  reel  off  the  name  and  address  all 
right,  and  then  simply  sketch  in  what  he  wants 
said,  without  takin'  pains  to  throw  in  such 
details  as  " Replying  to  yours  of  even  date," 
or  "We  are  in  receipt  of  yours  of  the  20th 
inst."  And  the  connectin'  links  he  always 
leaves  to  the  stenog. 

129 


130          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Course  that  don't  take  much  bean  after  they 
get  used  to  his  ways ;  but  this  fairy  in  the  puck- 
ered black  velvet  waist  and  the  white  linen 
cuffs  hadn't  been  on  the  Corrugated  staff 
more  'n  three  days,  and  this  was  her  first  tryout 
on  private  officework.  She'd  been  told  to  read 
over  the  last  letter  fired  at  her,  and  she  was 
doin'  it  like  this : 

BAILY,  BANKS  &  BAKER,  Something-or-other  Chestnut, 
Philadelphia.  Look  up  the  number,  will  you?  Gentlemen — 
and  so  on.  Ah — er — what's  that  note  of  theirs?  Oh,  yes! 
Shipments  of  ore  will  be  resumed — 

Which  was  where  Mr.  Robert  stops  her. 
"Pardon  me,"  says  he,  "but  before  we  go  any 
further  just  how  much  of  that  rubbish  do  you 
mean  to  transcribe  1" 

"Why,"  says  Ruby,  starin'  at  him  vacant, 
"I — I  took  down  just  what  you  said." 

"Mm-m-m!"  says  he  sarcastic.  "My  error. 
And — er — that  will  be  all."  Then,  when  she's 
gone,  he  growls  savage:  "Delightful,  eh?  You 
noticed  her,  didn't  you,  Torchy?" 

"The  mouth  breather?"  says  I.  "Sure! 
That 's  Ruby.  Nobody  home,  and  the  front  door 
left  open.  One  of  Piddie's  finds,  I  expect." 

"Ring  for  him,  will  you?"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

Poor  Piddie!  He  was  almost  as  fussed  as 
Ruby  had  been.  He  admits  takin'  her  on,  but 
insists  that  she  brought  a  good  letter  from  some 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  RUBY        131 

Western  mill  concern  and  was  a  wonder  at 
takin'  figures. 

"Keep  her  on  them  and  out  of  here,  then," 
says  Mr.  Robert.  "And  if  you  love  peace,  Mr. 
Piddie,  avoid  sending  her  to  the  governor." 

Which  was  a  good  hunch  too,  What  Old 
Hickory  would  have  remarked  if  them  letters 
had  got  to  him  it  ain't  best  to  imagine.  Be- 
sides, that  stare  of  Ruby's  would  have  got  on 
his  nerves  from  the  start;  for  it's  the  weirdest, 
emptiest,  why-am-I-here  look  I  ever  saw  out- 
side a  nut  fact'ry.  Kind  of  a  hauntin'  look 
too.  I  couldn't  help  watchin'  for  it  every  time 
I  passes  through  the  front  office,  just  to  see  if 
it  had  changed  any.  And  it  didn't — always  the 
same! 

Then  here  one  day  when  I  has  to  cook  up 
some  tabulated  stuff  for  the  Semiannual  me  and 
Ruby  had  a  three-hour  session  together,  me 
readin'  off  long  strings  of  numbers,  and  her 
thumpin'  'em  out  on  the  keys.  We  got  along 
fine  too,  and  when  I  says  as  much  at  the  finish 
she  jars  me  almost  speechless  by  shootin'  over 
a  shy,  grateful  look  and  smilin'  coy. 

From  then  on  it  was  almost  a  case  of  friendly 
relations  between  me  and  Ruby,  conducted  on 
the  basis  of  about  two  smiles  a  day.  Poor 
thing!  I  expect  them  was  about  the  only 
friendly  motions  she  went  through  durin'  busi- 
ness hours;  for  she  didn't  seem  to  mix  at  all 


132          TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

with  the  other  lady  typists,  and  as  for  the 
young  sports  around  the  shop — well,  to  them 
Ruby  was  a  standin'  joke. 

And  you  could  hardly  blame  'em.  Them 
back-number  costumes  of  hers  looked  odd 
enough  mixed  in  with  all  the  harem  effects  and 
wired-neck  ruffs  that  the  others  wore  down  to 
work.  But  when  it  come  to  doin'  her  hair 
Euby  was  in  a  class  by  herself.  No  spit  curls 
or  French  rolls  for  her!  She  sticks  to  the 
plain  double  braid,  wound  around  her  head 
smooth  and  slick,  like  the  stuff  they  wrap 
Chianti  bottles  in,  and  with  her  long  soup- 
viaduct  it  gives  her  sort  of  a  top-heavy  look. 
Sort  of  dull,  ginger-colored  hair  it  is  too.  Be- 
sides that  she's  a  tall,  shingle-chested  female, 
well  along  in  the  twenties,  I  should  judge,  and 
with  all  the  earmarks  of  bein'  an  old  maid.  * 

So  shock  No.  2  is  handed  me  when  I  discovers 
how  the  high-shouldered  young  husk  with  the 
wide-set  blue  eyes,  that  I'd  seen  hangin'  round 
the  Arcade  on  and  off,  was  really  waitin'  for 
Euby.  Uh-huh !  I  stood  and  watched  'em  sidle 
up  to  each  other  and  go  driftin'  out  into  Broad- 
way hand  in  hand.  A  swell  pair  they'd  make 
for  a  Eube  vaudeville  act !  Honest,  with  a  few 
make-up  touches,  they  could  have  walked  right 
on  and  had  the  gallery  with  'em! 

Believe  me,  I  couldn't  miss  a  chance  to  josh 
Euby  some  on  that.  I  shoves  it  at  her  next  day 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  EUBY        133 

when  I  comes  back  early  from  lunch  and  finds 
her  brushin'  her  sandwich  crumbs  into  the 
waste  basket. 

"Now  don't  spring  any  musty  first-cousin 
gag  on  me,"  says  I;  "for  it  don't  go  with  the 
fond,  palm-pressin'  act.  Steady  comp'ny,  ain't 
he?" 

Which  was  where  you'd  expect  her  to  turn 
pink  in  the  ears  and  let  loose  a  giggle.  But 
not  Euby.  She's  a  solemn,  serious-minded 
party,  Euby  is.  "Do  you  mean  Mr.  Lind- 
holm?"  says  she. 

"Heavings!"  says  I.  "Do  you  have  relays 
of  'em?  I'm  referrin'  to  the  stocky-built  young 
Eomeo  that  picked  you  up  at  the  door  last 
night." 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  she  placid,  "Nelson  Lind- 
holm.  We  had  Sanskrit  together. ' ' 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Sans-which?  What  kind 
of  a  disease  is  that?" 

"It's  a  language,"  explains  Euby.  "We 
were  in  the  same  class.  I  thought  it  might  help 
me  in  my  foreign  mission  work.  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  why  Nelson  took  it,  though.  He 
was  studying  electrical  engineering." 

"Maybe  it  was  catchin',  at  that,"  says  I. 
"Where  was  all  this?" 

"At  the  Co-ed,"  says  Euby.  "But  then  I'd 
known  Nelson  before.  He's  from  Naukeesha 
too." 


134          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

' '  Come  again, ' '  says  I.    ' '  From  what  ? ' ' 

"Naukeesha,"  repeats  Ruby,  just  as  if  it 
was  some  common  name  like  Patchogue  or 
Hoboken. 

"Is  that  an  island  somewhere,"  says  I,  "or 
just  a  mixed  drink?" 

"Why,"  says  she,  "it's  a  town;  in  Wis- 
consin, you  know." 

"Think  of  that!"  says  I.  "How  they  do 
mess  up  the  map!  What's  it  like,  this  Nau- 
keesha?" 

And  for  the  first  time  Ruby  shows  some 
traces  of  life.  "It's  nice, ' '  says  she,  *  *  real  nice. 
Not  at  all  like  New  York." 

"Ah  come,  not  so  rough!"  says  I.  "What 
you  got  special  against  our  burg  here?" 

Ruby  lapses  back  into  her  vacant  stare  and 
sort  of  shivers.  "  It 's  so  big  and — and  whirly ! ' ' 
says  she.  "I  don't  like  things  to  be  whirly. 
Then  the  people  are  so  strange,  and  their  faces 
so  hard.  If — if  I  should  fall  down  in  one  of 
those  crowds,  I'm  sure  they  would  walk  right 
over  me,  trample  on  me,  without  caring." 

"Pooh!"  says  I.  "You'll  work  up  a  rush- 
hour  nerve  in  a  month  or  so.  Of  course,  havin' 
always  lived  in  a  place  like  Naukeesha " 

"But  I  haven't,"  corrects  Ruby.  "I  was 
born  in  Kansas." 

"As  bad  as  that?"  says  I.  "And  your  folks 
moved  up  there  later,  eh?" 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  EUBY        135 

"No,"  says  she.    "They — they — I  lost  them 
there.    A  cyclone,  you  know." 

"You  don't  mean,"  says  I,  "that — that " 


'Yes,"  says  she,  "Mother,  Father,  and  my 
two  brothers.  We  were  all  together  when  it 
struck;  that  is,  I  was  just  coming  in  from  the 
kitchen.  I'd  been  shutting  the  windows.  I 
saw  them  all  go — whirled  off,  just  like  that. 
The  chimney  fell,  big  beams  came  down,  then 
it  was  all  smoky  and  dark.  I  must  have  been 
blown  through  a  window.  My  face  was  cut  a 
little.  I  never  knew.  Neighbors  found  me  in 
a  field  by  a  stump.  They  found  the  others  too 
— laid  them  side  by  side  in  the  wagon  shed. 
Nothing  else  was  left  standing.  It's  dreadful, 
being  in  a  cyclone — the  roar,  you  know,  and 
things  coming  at  you  in  the  dark,  and  that  feel- 
ing of  being  lifted  and  whirled.  I  was  only 
twelve;  but  I — I  can't  forget.  And  when  I'm 
in  big,  noisy  places  it  all  comes  back.  I  sup- 
pose I'm  silly." 

I  Was  she?  Say,  what's  your  guess  about 
that?  And,  take  it  from  me,  I  didn't  wonder 
any  more  at  that  stary  look  of  hers.  She'd 
seen  'em  all  go — four  of  'em.  Good-night!  I 
talked  easy  and  soothin'  to  Ruby  after  that. 

"Then  I  went  up  to  live  with  Uncle  Edward 
at  Naukeesha,"  she  trails  along.  "He's  a  min- 
ister there.  It  was  he  who  suggested  my  going 
into  foreign  mission  work.  I  had  to  do  some- 


136          TOUCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

thing,  you  know,  and  I'd  always  been  such  a 
good  scholar.  I  love  books.  So  I  studied 
hard,  and  was  sent  to  the  Co-ed.  But  the  lan- 
guages took  so  much  time.  Then  I  had  to  skip 
several  terms  and  work  to  help  pay  my  ex- 
penses. I  worked  during  vacations  too,  at  any- 
thing. Now  I'm  waiting  for  a  field.  They  send 
you  out  when  there's  a  vacancy." 

"How  about  Nelson?"  says  I.  "He's  goin' 
to  be  a  missionary  too?" 

"He  doesn't  want  me  to  go,"  says  Ruby, 
shakin'  her  head.  "That  is  why  he  came  on. 
He  had  charge  of  the  electric  light  plant  too, 
a  good  place.  And  here  he  gets  only  odd  jobs. 
I  tell  him  he's  silly  to  stay.  I  can't  see  why  he 
does." 

"Asked  him,  have  you?"  says  I. 

"Why,  no,"  says  Ruby. 

"Shoot  it  at  him  to-night,"  says  I. 

But  she  shakes  her  head,  opens  her  notebook, 
and  feeds  in  a  copyin'  sheet  as  the  clock  points 
to  1.  I  looks  up  just  in  time  to  catch  a  couple 
of  them  cheap  bond-room  sports  nudgin'  each 
other  as  they  passes  by.  Thought  I'd  been 
joshin'  the  Standin'  Joke,  I  expect.  Well, 
that's  the  way  I  started  in,  I'll  admit. 

It's  only  a  day  or  so  later  I  has  the  luck 
to  run  across  Oakley  Mills.  Something  had 
come  up  that  needed  to  be  passed  on  by  Mr. 
Robert,  and  as  he  was  still  out  lunchin'  I  scouts 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  RUBY         137 

over  to  his  club,  and  finds  him  stowed  away  at 
a  corner  table  with  this  chatty  playwright 
party. 

He's  quite  a  swell,  Oakley  is,  you  know;  and 
I  guess  with  one  Broadway  hit  in  its  second 
year,  and  a  lot  of  road  comp'nies  out,  he  can 
afford  to  flit  around  under  the  white  lights. 
Him  and  Mr.  Eobert  has  always  been  more  or 
less  chummy,  and  every  now  and  then  they  get 
together  like  this  for  a  talkfest.  As  Mr.  Mills 
seems  to  be  right  in  the  middle  of  something 
as  I  drifts  in,  Mr.  Eobert  waves  me  to  a 
chair  and  signals  him  to  keep  on,  which  he 
does. 

"It's  a  curious  mess,  that's  all,"  says  Oak- 
ley, spreadin'  out  his  manicured  fingers  and 
shruggin'  his  shoulders  under  his  Donegal  Nor- 
folk. "I'm  not  sure  if  the  new  piece  will  ever 
go  on." 

"Another  procrastinating  producer?"  asks 
Mr.  Eobert  careless. 

"No,  a  finicky  author  this  time,"  says  Oak- 
ley. "You  see,  there  is  one  part,  a  character 
part,  which  I'm  insisting  must  be  cast  right. 
It  seemed  easy  at  first.  But  these  women  of 
our  American  stage!  No  training,  no  facility, 
no  understanding!  Not  one  of  them  can  fill 
it,  and  we've  tried  nearly  a  dozen.  If  I  could 
only  find  the  original!" 

"Eh?"  says  Mr.  Eobert,  who's  been  payin' 


138  TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

more  attention  to  manipulatin '  the  soda  siphon 
than  to  Oakley's  beefin'.  "What  original?" 

"The  dumbest,  woodenest,  most  conscien- 
tious young  female  person  it  has  ever  been  my 
lot  to  meet,"  goes  on  Mr.  Mills.  "Talk  about 
your  rare  types!  You  should  have  known 
Faithful  Fannie  (my  name  for  her,  you  know). 
It  was  out  in  the  Middle  West  last  summer. 
I  had  two  or  three  weeks'  work  to  do  on  the 
new  piece,  revising  it  to  fit  Amy  Dean.  All 
stars  of  that  magnitude  demand  it,  you  under- 
stand. 

"Well,  I  should  have  stayed  right  here  until 
it  was  done,  but  some  Chicago  friends  wanted 
me  to  go  with  them  up  into  the  lake  region, 
promised  me  an  ideal  place  to  work  in — all  that. 
So  I  went.  I  might  have  had  better  sense. .  You 
know  these  bungalow  colonies  in  the  woods — 
where  they  live  in  fourteen-room  log  cabins, 
fitted  with  electric  lights  and  English  butlers? 
Bah!  It  was  bridge  and  tennis  and  dancing 
day  and  night,  with  a  new  mob  every  week- 
end. Work?  As  well  try  it  in  the  middle  of 
the  Newport  Casino. 

"So  I  hunted  up  a  little  third-rate  summer 
hotel  a  mile  or  so  off,  where  the  guests  were 
few  and  the  food  wretched,  and  camped  down 
with  my  mangled  script  and  my  typewriter. 
There  I  met  Fannie  the  Unforgetful.  She  was 
the  waitress  I  happened  to  draw  out  of  a  job 


139 

lot.  I  suppose  it  was  her  debut  at  that  sort  of 
thing.  For  the  sake  of  hungry  humanity  I  hope 
it  was.  What  she  did  not  know  about  serving 
was  simply  amazing;  but  her  capacity  for  ab- 
sorbing suggestions  and  obeying  orders  was 
profound.  *  Could  I  have  a  warm  plate?'  I 
asked  at  the  first  meal.  'Oh,  certainly,  Sir/ 
says  Fannie,  and  from  then  on  every  dish  she 
brought  me  was  piping  hot,  even  to  the  cold- 
meat  platter  and  the  ice  cream  saucer.  It  was 
that  way  with  every  wish  I  was  rash  enough 
to  express.  Fannie  never  forgot,  and  she  kept 
to  the  letter  of  the  law. 

"Also  she  would  stand  patiently  and  watch 
me  eat.  That  is,  she  would  fix  her  eyes  on  me 
intently,  never  moving,  and  keep  them  there 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  a  time.  A  little 
embarrassing,  you  know,  to  be  so  constantly 
observed.  She  had  such  big,  stary  eyes  too, 
absolutely  without  any  expression  in  them.  To 
break  the  spell  I  would  order  things  I  didn't 
want,  just  to  get  her  out  of  the  way  for  a  mo- 
ment or  so  while  I  snatched  a  few  unwatched 
bites.  You  know  how  it  is?  There's  green 
corn.  Now  I  like  to  tackle  that  with  both  hands ; 
but  I  don't  care  to  be  closely  inspected  while 
I'm  at  it.  I  used  to  fancy  that  her  gaze  was 
somewhat  critical.  'Good  heavens,  Girl!'  I 
said  one  day.  'Can't  you  look  somewhere  else 
— at  the  ceiling,  or  out  of  the  window!'  She 


140          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

chose  the  ceiling.  It  was  a  bit  weird  to  have 
her  stationed  opposite  me,  her  eyes  rolled 
heavenward.  Uncanny!  It  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  the  other  guests.  But  it  was  some- 
thing of  a  relief.  I  could  watch  her  then. 

"There  was  something  fascinating  about 
Faithful  Fannie,  though,  as  there  is  about  all 
unusually  plain  persons.  Not  that  she  was 
positively  homely.  Her  features  were  regular 
enough,  I  suppose.  But  she  was  such  a  tall, 
slim,  colorless,  neutral  creature!  And  awk- 
ward! You've  seen  a  young  turkey,  all  legs 
and  neck,  with  its  silly  head  bobbing  above  the 
tall  grass?  Well,  something  like  that.  And 
as  I  never  read  at  my  meals  I  had  nothing  else 
to  do  but  study  that  sallow,  unmoving  face  of 
hers  with  its  steady,  emotionless,  upward  gaze. 
Was  she  thinking?  And  what  about?  Who 
was  she?  Where  had  she  come  from? 

"A  haunting  face,  Fannie 's  was;  at  least,  for 
me.  It  became  almost  an  obsession.  I  could 
see  it  as  I  sat  down  to  my  work.  And  the  first 
thing  I  knew  I  was  writing  Fannie  into  my 
play.  There  was  a  maid's  part  in  it, — the  con- 
ventional, table-dusting,  note-carrying,  tea- 
serving  maid,  with  not  half  a  dozen  words  to 
speak.  But  before  I  knew  it  this  insignificant 
part  had  become  so  elaborated,  I  had  sketched 
in  Fannie 's  personality  so  vividly,  that  the 
whole  action  and  theme  of  the  piece  were  revolv- 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  BUBY         141 

ing  about  her — hinged  on  her.  I  couldn't  seem 
to  stop,  either.  I  wrote  on  and  on  and — well,  by 
Jove !  it  ended  in  my  turning  out  something  en- 
tirely different  from  that  which  I  had  begun. 
The  original  skeleton  is  still  there,  the  charac- 
ters are  the  same;  but  the  values  have  ex- 
changed places.  This  is  a  Fannie  play  through 
and  through.  And  it's  good,  the  biggest  thing 

I've  done;  but "  Once  more  Oakley  shrugs 

his  shoulders  and  ends  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Rubbish!  "  says  Mr.  Robert.  "You  and 
your  artistic  temperament!  What's  the  real 
trouble,  anyway?" 

"As  I've  tried  to  make  clear  to  your  limited 
and  wholly  commercialized  intelligence, ' '  comes 
back  Mr.  Mills,  "I  have  created  a  character 
which  is  too  deep  and  too  subtle  for  any  avail- 
able American  actress  to  handle.  If  I  could 
only  find  the  original  now,  with  her  tract- 
able genius  for  doing  exactly  what  she  was 
told " 

"Why  not  send  out  for  her,  then?"  asks  Mr. 
Robert. 

"As  though  I  hadn't!"  says  Oakley.  "Two 
weeks  ago  I  located  the  hotel  manager  in  Flor- 
ida and  wired  him  a  full  description  of  the  girl. 
All  I  got  from  him  was  that  he  'd  heard  she  was 
somewhere  in  New  York." 

"How  simple!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Here  is 
my  young  friend  Torchy,  with  wits  even  more 


142          TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

brilliant  than  his  hair.  Ask  him  to  find  Fan- 
nie for  you." 

"A  girl  whose  name  I  don't  even  know!" 
protests  Oakley.  "How  in  blazes  could  anyone 
trace  a " 

"I'll  bet  you  the  dinners,"  cuts  in  Mr.  Eob- 
ert,  "that  Torchy  can  do  it." 

"Taken,"  says  Mr.  Mills,  and  turns  to  me 
brisk.  '  *  Now,  young  man,  what  further  details 
would  you  like?" 

"Don't  happen  to  have  a  lock  of  her  hair 
with  you?"  says  I,  grinnin'. 

"Alas,  no!"  says  he.  "She  favored  me  with 
no  such  mark  of  her  esteem." 

"Was  it  kind  of  ginger-colored,"  says  I, 
* '  and  done  in  a  braid  round  her  head  1 ' ' 

"Why — er — I  believe  it  was,"  says  he. 

"And  didn't  she  have  sort  of  droopy  shoul- 
ders," I  goes  on,  "and  a  trick  of  starin'  vague, 
with  her  mouth  part  way  open?" 

"Yes,  yes !"  says  he  eager.  "But — but  whom 
are  you  describing?" 

"Euby  Everschott,"  says  I.  "Come  down 
to  the  Corrugated  and  take  a  look." 

Course  it  seemed  like  a  100  to  1  chance,  but 
when  I  got  the  Wisconsin  part  of  his  yarn, 
and  tacked  it  onto  the  rest,  it  didn't  seem  likely 
one  State  could  produce  two  such  specimens. 
Inside  of  fifteen  minutes  the  three  of  us  wa-s 
strollin'  casual  through  the  front  offices. 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  EUBY         143 

"Glance  down  the  line  of  lady  typists,"  I 
whispers  to  Oakley. 

"By  George!"  says  he  gaspy.  "The  one  at 
the  far  end?" 

"You  win,"  says  I. 

"And  you  also,  my  young  wizard,"  says 
Oakley. 

"I'll  have  her  sent  into  my  private  office," 
suggests  Mr.  Robert. 

And  once  more  I  was  lookin'  for  some  star- 
tled motions  from  Ruby  when  she  discovers  Mr. 
Mills.  But  in  she  comes,  as  woodeny  and  stiff 
as  ever,  goes  to  her  little  table,  and  spreads 
out  her  notebook,  without  glancin'  at  any 
of  us. 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Everschott,"  says  Mr. 
Robert,  "but — er — my  friend  Mills  here  fan- 
cies that  he — er — ah — oh,  hang  it  all!  you  say 
it,  Oakley." 

At  which  Mr.  Mills  steps  up  smilin'.  I  should 
judge  he  was  a  fairly  smooth,  high-polished 
gent  as  a  rule ;  but  after  Ruby  has  turned  that 
stupid,  stary  look  on  him,  without  battin'  an 
eyelash  or  liftin'  an  eyebrow,  the  smile  fades 
out.  She  don't  say  a  word  or  make  a  move: 
just  continues  to  stare.  As  for  Oakley,  he 
shifts  uneasy  on  his  feet  and  flushes  up  under 
the  eyes. 

"Well?"  says  he.  "I  trust  you  remember 
me?" 


144          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Ruby  shakes  her  head  slow.  "No,  Sir,"  says 
she. 

"Eh?"  says  Oakley.  "Weren't  you  a 
waitress  at  the  Lakeside  Hotel  last  sum- 
mer?" 

"Certainly,  Sir,"  says  Ruby. 

"And  didn't  you  bring  me  my  meals  three 
times  a  day  for  four  mortal  weeks?"  he  in- 
sists. 

"Did  I?"  says  Ruby,  starin'  stupider  than 
ever. 

"Great  Scott,  young  woman!"  breaks  out 
Oakley.  "Didn't  you  look  at  me  long  enough 
and  steadily  enough  to  remember?  Don't  you 
recall  I  was  disagreeable  enough  to  ask  you  not 
to  watch  me  eat?" 

"  Oh ! "  says  Ruby,  a  flicker  of  almost  human 
intelligence  in  her  big  eyes.  "The  one  who 
wanted  hot  plates ! ' ' 

"At  last,"  says  Oakley,  "I  am  properly  iden- 
tified. Yes,  I  am  the  hot-plate  person." 

"You  had  tea  for  breakfast  too,  didn't  you?" 
asks  Ruby. 

"Always,"  says  he.  "An  eccentricity  of 
mine. ' ' 

"And  you  put  salt  on  your  muskmelon,  and 
wanted  your  eggs  opened,  and  didn't  like  to- 
mato soup,"  adds  Ruby,  like  she  was  repeatin' 
a  lesson. 

"Guilty  on  all  three  counts,"  says  Mr.  Mills. 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  RUBY        145 

"I  tried  to  remember,"  says  Ruby,  sort  of 
meek. 

"Tried!"  gasps  Oakley.  "Why,  you  made 

an  art  of  it.  You  never  so  much  as But 

tell  me,  was  it  those  foolish  little  whims  of 
mine  you  were  thinking  so  hard  about  while 
you  stood  there  gazing  so  intently  at  me?" 

Ruby  nods;  a  shy,  bashful  little  nod. 

Mr.  Mills  makes  a  low  bow.  "A  thousand 
pardons,  my  dear  young  lady!"  says  he.  "I 
stand  convicted  of  utter  selfishness.  But  per- 
haps I  can  atone." 

And  with  that  he  proceeds  to  put  his  propo- 
sition up  to  her.  He  tells  her  about  the  play, 
the  trouble  he's  had  tryin'  to  fit  one  special 
part,  and  how  he's  sure  she  could  do  it  to  a  T. 
He  asks  her  to  give  it  a  try. 

"Go  on  the  stage ! ' '  says  Ruby,  her  big  eyes 
starin'  at  him  like  he'd  asked  her  to  jump  off 
the  Metropolitan  Tower.  "No,  I  don't  think 
I  could.  I'm  going  to  be  a  foreign  missionary, 
you  know." 

"A — a  what?"  gasps  Oakley.  "Missionary! 
But  see  here — that  can  wait.  And  in  one  sea- 
son on  the  stage  you  could  make " 

Well,  I  must  say  Oakley  argued  it  well  and 
put  it  strong;  but  he'd  have  produced  just  as 
good  results  if  he'd  been  out  in  the  square 
askin'  the  bronze  statue  of  Lafayette  to  hand 
Mm  down  a  match.  Ruby  drops  back  into  her 


146  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

vague  gazin'  act  and  shakes  her  head.  So  at 
last  he  ends  by  askin'  her  to  think  it  over  for 
a  day,  and  Ruby  goes  back  to  her  desk. 

* '  How  absurd ! ' '  growls  Oakley.  *  *  But  I  sim- 
ply must  have  her.  Why,  we  would  pay  her 
three  hundred  dollars  a  week." 

I  catches  my  breath  at  that.  "Excuse  me  if 
I  seem  to  crash  in,"  says  I,  "but  was  that  a 
gust  of  superheated  air,  or  did  you  mean  it  I " 

"I  should  be  glad  to  submit  a  contract  to  Miss 
Everschott  on  those  terms,"  says  he. 

"Then  leave  it  to  me,"  says  I;  "that  is,  to  me 
and  Nelson." 

Did  we  win  Ruby?  Say,  with  our  descrip- 
tions of  what  three  hundred  a  week  might  mean 
in  the  way  of  Christmas  presents  to  Uncle  Ed, 
and  donations  to  the  poor  box,  and  a  few  per- 
sonal frills  on  the  side,  we  shot  that  foreign 
missionary  scheme  so  full  of  holes  it  looked 
like  a  last  year  mosquito  bar  at  the  attic 
window. 

"But  I'm  sure  I  sha'n't  like  it  at  all,"  says 
Ruby  as  she  signs  her  name. 

I  didn't  deny  that.  I  knew  she  was  in  for  a 
three  weeks'  drillin'  by  the  roughest  stage  man- 
ager in  the  business.  You  know  who.  But  he 
can  deliver  the  goods,  can't  he?  He  makes  the 
green  ones  act.  Look  at  what  he  did  with  Ruby ! 
Only  it  don't  seem  like  actin'  at  all.  She's  just 
Ruby,  in  the  same  puckered  waist,  her  hair 


SOME  GUESSES  ON  RUBY         147 

mopped  around  her  head  in  the  same  silly 
braid,  and  that  same  stary  look  in  her  big 
eyes.  But  it  gets  'em  strong.  Packed  every 
night ! 

I  meets  Nelson  here  only  yesterday,  and  he 
was  tellin'  me.  Comin'  along  some  himself, 
Nelson  is.  He's  opened  an  office  and  is  biddin' 
for  big  jobs. 

"I've  just  landed  my  first  contract,"  says 
he. 

"Good!"  says  I.    "What's  it  for!" 

"A  fifty- foot,  twenty-thousand-candle-power 
sign  over  the  theater,"  says  he,  "with  Ruby's 
name  in  it.  She's  signed  up  for  another  year, 
you  know." 

' '  Well,  well ! ' '  says  I.  « <  Then  it 's  all  off  with 
the  heathen,  eh?" 

And  Nelson  he  drifts  up  the  street  wearin* 
a  grin. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TOUCHY  GETS   AN   INSIDE   TIP 

THERE  was  two  commuters,  one  loaded  down 
with  a  patent  runner  sled,  the  other  chewin' 
a  cigar  impatient  and  consultin'  his  watch;  a 
fat  woman  with  a  six-year-old  who  was  teasin' 
to  go  see  Santa  Glaus  in  the  window  again;  a 
sporty-lookin'  old  boy  with  a  red  tie  who  was 
blinkin'  googoos  out  of  his  puffy  eyes ;  and  then 
there  was  me,  draped  in  my  new  near-English 
top  coat  and  watchin'  the  swing  doors  ex- 
pectant. 

So  you  see  they  ain't  particular  who  hangs 
out  in  these  department  store  vestibules.  But 
I'll  bet  I  had  the  best  excuse!  I  was  waitin' 
for  Vee!  She'd  gone  in  at  five-twenty-one, 
sayin'  she'd  be  only  a  couple  of  minutes;  so 
she  wa'n't  really  due  for  half  an  hour  yet. 

The  commuter  with  the  sled  had  just  been 
picked  up  by  Wifey,  loaded  down  with  more 
bundles,  and  rushed  off  for  the  five-forty-some- 
thing for  Somewhere,  and  a  new  recruit  in  the 
shape  of  a  fish-eyed  gink  with  a  double-chin 
dimple  had  drifted  in,  when  I  has  the  feelin' 
that  someone  has  sidled  up  to  me  from  the  far 

148 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP     149 

door  at  the  left  and  is  standin'  there.  Then 
comes  the  timid  hail : 

' '  I  beg  pardon,  Sir. ' ' 

You'd  naturally  look  for  somebody  special 
after  that,  wouldn't  you?  But  what  I  finds 
close  to  my  elbow  is  a  wispy  little  girl  with  a 
pinched,  high-strung  look  on  her  thin  face,  an 
amazin'  collection  of  freckles,  and  a  pleadin' 
look  in  her  big,  blue-gray  eyes.  She's  cos- 
tumed mainly  in  a  shaggy  tam-o'-shanter  that 
comes  down  over  her  ears,  and  an  old  plaid 
cape  that  must  have  been  some  vivid  in  its 
color  scheme  when  it  was  new. 

"Eh,  Sister?"  says  I,  gawpin'  at  her. 

"Is  it  true  about  the  work  papers,  Sir?" 
says  she. 

"The  which?"  says  I,  not  gettin'  her  for  a 
second.  "Oh!  Work  papers?  Sure!  They 
can't  take  you  on  unless  you're  over  fourteen 
and  have  been  to  school  so  many  weeks." 

"Not  anywhere?  Wouldn't  they?"  she  in- 
sists. 

I  shakes  my  head.  "Wouldn't  dare,"  says  I. 
"They'd  be  fined  if  they  did." 

"Th-thank  you,  Sir,"  says  she.  "That's 
what  the  man  said." 

She  was  winkin'  both  eyes  hard  to  hold  the 
brine  back,  and  her  under  lip  was  trembly;  but 
she  was  keeping  her  chin  up  brave  and  steady. 
She'd  turned  to  go  when  she  swings  around.  , 


150          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Please,  Sir,"  says  she,  "where  does  one  go 
when  one  is  tired?" 

"Why,  Sis,"  says  I  sort  of  quizzin',  "what's 
the  matter  with  home1?" 

"But  if  one  has  no  home?"  she  comes  back 
at  me  solemn. 

"The  case  being  that  of  a  little  girl,"  says 
I,  ' '  she  wanders  around  until  she 's  collected  by 
a  cop,  turned  over  to  the  Children's  Society, 
and  committed  to  some  home." 

"But  I  mustn't  go  there,"  says  she,  glancin' 
around  scary.  "No,  not  to  a  home.  Daddums 
said  not  to." 

1 '  Did,  eh  ? "  says  I.  * '  Then  why  don 't  he 

By  the  way,  just  where  is  Daddums?" 

"Taken  up,"  says  she. 

"You  mean  pinched?"  says  I. 

' '  I  think  so, ' '  says  she.  '  *  Cook  says  the  bob- 
bies came  for  him.  He  left  word  with  her 
that  I  wasn't  to  worry,  as  he'd  be  let  out  soon, 
and  I  was  to  stay  where  I  was.  Three  weeks 
ago  that  was,  and — and  I  haven't  heard  from 
Daddums  since." 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "Listens  like  a  case  of  cir- 
cumstances over  which But  where  did  you 

pick  up  that  trick  of  speakin'  of  coppers  as 
bobbies?" 

"I  beg  pardon,  Sir?"  says  she. 

"That  tells  it,"  says  I.  "English,  ain't 
you?" 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      151 

''London,  Sir,  Brompton  Road,"  says  she. 

"Been  over  long?"  says  I. 

"A  matter  of  three  months,  Sir,"  says 
she. 

"And  what's  the  name?"  says  I. 

"Mine?"  says  she.  "Helma  Allston.  And 
yours,  please,  Sir?" 

I  wa'n't  lookin'  for  her  to  send  it  back  so 
prompt.  She  ain't  at  all  fresh  about  it,  you 
know:  just  easy  and  natural.  I  don't  know 
when  I've  run  across  a  youngster  with  such  nice 
manners. 

"Why,"  says  I,  "I  guess  you  can  call  me 
Torchy." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Torchy,"  says  she,  doin' 
a  little  dancin '-school  duck.  "And  if  you  don't 
mind,  I'd  like  to — to  stay  here  for  a  minute  or 

two  while  I  think  what  I  'd  best 0-o-o-oh ! ' ' 

She  sort  of  moans  out  this  last  panicky  and 
shrinks  against  the  wall. 

"Well,  what's  the  trouble  now?"  says  I. 

"That's  the  one!"  she  whispers  husky. 
"The — the  man  in  the  blue  cap — the  one  who 
told  me  about  the  work  papers.  He  said  I  was 
to  clear  out  too." 

And  by  followin'  her  scared  glances  I  dis- 
covers this  low-brow  store  sleuth  scowlin'  ugly 
at  her. 

"Pooh!"  says  I.  "Only  one  of  them  cheap 
flat-foots.  Don't  mind  him.  You're  waitin* 


152          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

with  me,  you  know.  Here!'*  And  I  reaches 
down  a  hand  to  her. 

Maybe  it  wa'n't  some  grateful  look  Helma 
flashes  up  as  she  slips  her  slim,  cold  little  fin- 
gers into  mine  and  snuggles  up  like  a  lost 
kitten.  The  store  sleuth  he  stares  puzzled  for 
a  second;  but  the  near-English  top  coat  must 
have  impressed  him,  for  he  goes  sneakin'  back 
down  the  main  aisle. 

So  here  I  am,  with  this  freaky  little  stray  un- 
der my  wing,  when  Vee  comes  sailin'  out,  all 
trim  and  classy  in  her  silver  fox  furs,  with  a 
cute  little  hat  to  match,  and  takes  in  the  pic- 
ture. Maybe  you  can  guess  too,  how  the  aver- 
age young  queen  in  her  set  would  have  curled 
her  lip  at  sight  of  that  faded  cape  and  oversized 
cap.  But  not  Vee !  She  just  indulges  in  a  flick- 
ery  smile,  then  straightens  her  face  out  and 
remarks : 

"Well,  Torchy,  I  haven't  had  the  pleasure, 

him  If*? 

Say,  she's  a  real  sport,  Vee  is,  take  it  from 
me! 

"Guess  not,"  says  I.  "This  is  Helma,  late 
of  London,  just  now  at  large.  It's  a  case  of 
one's  havin'  mislaid  one's  home." 

"Oh!"  says  Vee,  a  little  doubtful.  "And 
one's  parents  too?" 

"Painful  subject,"  says  I,  shakin'  my  head 
warnin*. 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP     153 

But  Helma  ain't  the  kind  to  gloss  things  over. 
She  speaks  right  out.  "If  you  please,  Miss," 
says  she,  "I've  no  mother,  and  Daddums  has 
been  taken  up — the  bobbies,  you  know.  And  I 
fancy  the  money  he  left  for  my  board  must 
have  been  all  used;  for  I  heard  the  landlady 
say  I'd  have  to  go  to  a  home.  So  before  day- 
light this  morning  I  slipped  out  the  front  door. 
I'm  not  going  back,  either.  I — I'm  looking 
for  work." 

"For  work!"  says  Vee,  starin'  first  at  me 
and  then  at  Helma.  "You  absurd  little  thing! 
Why,  how  old  are  you?" 

"I  was  twelve  last  month,  Miss,"  says 
Helma,  bobbin'  polite. 

"And  you've  been  out  since  daylight?"  de- 
mands Vee.  "Where  did  you  have  breakfast 
and  luncheon?" 

"I — I  didn't  have  them  at  all,  Miss,"  admits 
Helma. 

Vee  presses  her  lips  together  sudden  and 
then  shoots  a  knowin'  look  at  me.  "There!" 
says  she.  "That  reminds  me.  I  haven't  had 
tea,  either.  Well,  Torchy?" 

"My  blow,"  says  I.  "I  was  just  goin'  to 
mention  it.  There's  a  joint  somewhere  near, 
ain't  there?" 

"Top  floor,"  says  Vee.  "Come,  Helma, 
you'll  go  with  us,  won't  you?" 

And  you  should  have  seen  the  admirin'  look 


154  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Vee  got  back  in  exchange  for  the  smile  she 
gives  Helma!  The  look  never  fades,  either, 
all  the  while  Helma  is  puttin'  away  a  pot  of 
chocolate,  a  club  sandwich,  and  an  order  of 
toasted  muffins  and  marmalade.  She  just  lets 
them  big  eyes  of  hers  travel  up  and  down,  from 
Vee's  smooth-fittin'  gloves  to  the  little  wisp  of 
straw-colored  hair  that  curls  up  over  the  side 
of  her  fur  hat.  You  couldn't  blame  Helma.  I 
took  a  peek  now  and  then  myself. 

Meanwhile  we  has  a  good  chance  to  inspect 
this  waif  that's  been  sort  of  wished  on  us.  Such 
a  sharp,  peaked  little  face  she  has,  and  such 
bright,  active  eyes,  that  it  gives  her  a  wide- 
awake, live-wire  look,  like  a  fox  terrier.  Then 
the  freckles — just  spattered  with  'em,  clear 
across  the  bridge  of  her  nose  and  up  to  where 
the  carroty  hair  begins.  Like  rust  specks  on 
a  knife  blade,  they  were. 

"You  didn't  get  all  those  livin'  in  London, 
did  you?"  says  I. 

"Oh,  no,  Sir,"  says  she.  "Egypt  mostly, 
and  then  down  in  Devon.  You  see,  Sir  Alfred 
used  to  let  Daddums  take  me  along.  Head  but- 
ler, you  know,  Daddums  was — until  the  war. 
Then  Sir  Alfred  went  off  with  his  regiment, 
and  Haldeane  House  was  shut  up,  like  so  many 
others.  Daddums  was  too  old  to  enlist,  and  be- 
sides there  was  no  one  to  leave  me  with.  So 
he  had  to  try  for  a  place  over  here.  I — I  wish 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      155 

he  hadn't.  It  was  awful  of  the  bobbies,  wasn't 
it?" 

''Looks  so  from  here,"  says  I.  ''Was  it 
jew'lry  that  was  missin',  or  what?" 

"Money,  Cook  said,"  says  Helma.  "Oh,  a 
lot!  Fancy!  Why,  everyone  knows  Daddums 
wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that.  They  could  ask 
Sir  Alfred.  Daddums  was  with  him  ever  so 
long — since  I  was  a  little,  little  girl. ' ' 

I  glances  across  at  Vee,  and  she  glances  back. 
That's  all;  but  them  big  eyes  of  Helma 's  don't 
miss  it. 

"You — you  don't  believe  he  took  the  money, 
do  you?"  says  she,  wistful  and  pleadin'. 

At  which  Vee  reaches  over  and  pats  her 
soothin'  on  the  hand.  "I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  it,"  says  she. 

"He's  a  good  Daddums,"  goes  on  Helma, 
spreadin'  the  last  of  the  marmalade  on  a  but- 
tered muffin.  "He  was  going  to  take  me  to 
Australia,  where  Uncle  Verne  has  a  big  sheep 
ranch.  And  he'd  promised  to  buy  me  a  sheep 
pony,  all  for  my  very  own.  I  love  riding,  don't 
you?  In  Egypt  I  had  a  donkey  with  a  white 
face;  but  only  hired  from  Hassan,  you  know. 
And  in  Devon  there  was  a  cunning  little  Shet- 
land that  Hobbs  would  sometimes  let  me  take 
out.  But  here!  I  stay  in  a  dark  little  room 
alone  for  hours.  I — I  don't  like  it  at  all.  But 
it  costs  such  a  lot  to  get  to  Australia,  and  Dad- 


156          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

dums  hasn  't  been  well, — he 's  had  a  cold  on  his 
chest, — and  he's  been  afraid  he  would  lose  his 
place  and  have  to  go  to  a  hospital.  Just  before 
he  was  taken  up,  though,  he  told  me  we  were  to 
sail  for  Melbourne  soon.  Daddums  had  found 
a  way." 

This  time  I  took  care  that  Helma  wa'n't 
lookin'  before  I  glances  at  Vee.  I  shakes  my 
head  dubious,  indicatin'  I  wa'n't  so  sure  about 
Da'ddums.  But  Vee  only  tosses  up  her  chin  and 
turns  to  Helma. 

"Of  course  he  would!"  says  she.  "What 
have  you  in  your  lap,  Child?" 

The  kid  pinks  up  and  produces  a  battered 
old  doll, — one  of  these  cloth-topped,  everlastin' 
affairs,  that  looks  like  it  had  come  from  the 
Christmas  tree  quite  some  seasons  back. 

"This  is  my  dear  Arabella,"  says  Helma 
in  her  old-maid  way.  "I  suppose  I'm  too  old 
to  play  with  dolls  now ;  but  I — I  can 't  give  her 
up.  Only  the  night  before  Daddums  went  off 
I  missed  her  for  a  while  and  thought  she  was 
lost.  I  cried  myself  to  sleep.  But  what  do 
you  think?  In  the  morning  I  found  her  again, 
right  beside  me  on  the  pillow.  I  haven't  gone 
a  step  without  her  since." 

"You  dear  little  goose!"  says  Vee,  reachin' 
out  impetuous  and  givin'  her  a  hug.  "And 
where  do  you  think  you  're  going,  you  and  your 
Arabella?" 


TOECHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      157 

"I  don't  know,"  says  Helma.  "Only  I 
mustn't  let  them  put  me  in  a  home;  for  then 
I  couldn't  go  with  Daddums  when  he  came  out 
— you  see?" 

Sure,  we  saw — that  and  a  lot  more.  I  could 
tell  that  Vee  was  puzzlin'  over  the  situation 
by  the  way  she  was  starin'  at  the  youngster 
and  grippin'  her  muff.  Course  you  might  say 
we  wa'n't  any  Rescue  Mission,  or  anything 
like  that ;  but  somehow  this  was  diff  'rent.  Here 
was  Helma,  right  in  front  of  us !  And  I'm  free 
to  admit  the  proposition  was  too  much  for  me. 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "Handed  out  rough  some- 
times, ain't  it!  What's  the  answer,  Vee?" 

"There's  only  one,"  says  she.  "I'm  going 
to  take  Helma  home  with  me." 

"What  about  Aunty?"  says  I. 

At  which  Vee's  lips  come  together  and  her 
shoulders  straighten.  "I  know,"  says  she, 
"there'll  be  a  row.  Aunty's  always  saying  that 
such  affairs  should  be  handled  by  institutions. 
But  this  time — well,  we'll  see.  Come,  Helma." 

"Oh,  is  it  true?"  gasps  the  youngster.  "May 
I  go  with  you?  May  I?" 

And  as  I  tucked  'em  into  a  taxi,  Arabella  and 
all,  Vee  whispers :  '  *  Torchy,  if  you  're  any  good 
at  all,  you'll  go  straight  and  find  out  all  about 
Daddums  and  just  make  them  let  him  out!" 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Make  'em — say,  ain't  that 
some  life-sized  order?" 


158          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 


1 1 


'Perhaps,"  says  she.  "But  you  needn't 
come  to  see  us  until  you've  found  him. 
Good-by!" 

Just  like  that  I  got  it !  And,  say,  there  wa 'n't 
any  use  tryin'  to  kid  myself  into  thinkin'  maybe 
she  don't  mean  it.  I'd  seen  how  strong  this 
story  of  little  Hernia's  had  got  to  her;  and, 
believe  me,  when  Vee  gets  real  stirred  up  over 
anything  she's  some  earnest  party — no  four- 
flushin'  about  her!  And  it  don't  seem  to  make 
much  difference  who  blocks  the  path.  Look  at 
her  then,  sailin'  off  to  go  up  against  a  stiff- 
necked,  cold-eyed  Aunty,  who's  a  believer  in 
checkbook  charity,  and  mighty  little  of  that! 
And  just  so  I  won't  feel  out  of  it  she  tosses  me 
a  job  that  would  keep  a  detective  bureau  and  a 
board  of  pardons  busy  for  a  month. 

"Whiffo!"  says  I,  gawpin'  up  the  avenue 
after  the  cab.  "And  I  pulled  this  down  just  by 
bein'  halfway  human!  Oh,  very  well,  very 
well!  Here's  where  I  strain  something!" 

Course,  if  I  hadn't  knocked  around  a  news- 
paper office  more  or  less,  I  wouldn't  have  known 
where  to  begin  any  more  than — well,  than 
the  average  private  sec  would.  But  them  two 
years  I  spent  outside  the  Sunday  editor's  door 
wa'n't  all  wasted.  For  instance,  that's  where 
I  got  to  know  Whitey  Weeks.  And  now  my 
first  move  is  to  pike  down  to  old  Newspaper 
Row  and  locate  him.  Inside  of  half  an  hour 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      159 

we  'd  done  a  lot  too.  We  'd  called  up  their  head- 
quarter s'  man  on  the  'phone  and  had  him 
sketch  off  the  case  against  one  Allston,  a 
butler. 

"Yep,  grand  larceny,"  says  Whitey,  his  ear 
to  the  receiver.  "We  know  that.  How  much? 
Eh?  Twenty  thousand!" 

"Ah,  tell  him  to  turn  over :  he 's  on  his  back ! ' ' 
says  I.  "Not  twenty  thousand  cash?" 

"That's  what  he  says,"  insists  Whitey,  "all 
in  hundreds.  Lifted  out  of  a  secret  wall  safe." 

"Ask  him  where  this  guy  was  buttling, — in 
a  bank,"  says  I,  "or  at  the  Subtreasury?" 

And  Whitey  reports  that  Allston  was  workin' 
for  a  Mrs.  Murtha,  West  76th  Street;  "Mrs. 
Connie  Murtha,  you  know,"  he  goes  on,  "the 
big  poolroom  backer,  and  one  of  the  flossiest, 
foxiest  widows  in  New  York." 

"Then  that  accounts  for  the  husky  wad," 
says  I.  "Twenty  thousand!  No  piker,  was 
he?  Ask  your  man  who's  on  the  case?" 

"Rusitelli  &  Donahue,"  says  Whitey. 
"Mike's  a  friend  of  mine  too;  but  he  never 
talks  much." 

"Let's  have  a  try,  anyway,"  says  I. 

So  we  runs  this  partic'lar  detective  sergeant 
down,  drags  him  away  from  a  penuchle  game, 
and  Whitey  begins  by  suggestin'  that  we  hear 
how  he 's  done  some  clever  work  on  the  Allston 
case. 


160          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"I  got  him  right,  that's  all,"  says  Mike. 
"And  he'd  faked  up  a  nice  little  stall  too." 

"Anything  on  him  when  you  rounded  him 
up  ? "  asks  Whitey. 

Donahue  shakes  his  head  disgusted. 
"Stowed  it,"  says  he. 

"Some  cute,  eh?"  says  "Whitey. 

"Bah!"  says  Mike.  "Who  was  it  sprung 
that  tale  about  his  being  a  big  English  crook! 
The  Yard  never  heard  of  him.  I  doped  him  out 
from  the  first,  though.  Plain  nut!  The  Chief 
wouldn't  believe  it  until  I  showed  him." 

"Showed  him  what?"  says  Whitey,  innocent 
like. 

"This,"  says  the  sleuth,  haulin'  out  of  his 
pocket  a  bulgy  envelope.  "I  found  that  in  his 
room.  Take  a  look,"  and  he  lifts  the  flap  at 
the  end. 

"What  the  deuce!"  says  Whitey. 

"Sawdust,"  says  Mike,  "just  plain,  every- 
day sawdust.  I  had  it  analyzed, — no  dope,  no 
nothing.  Now  tell  me,  would  anyone  but  a  nut 
do  a  thing  like  that?" 

We  both  agreed  nobody  but  a  nut  would; 
also  we  remarks  in  chorus  that  Mr.  Donahue 
is  some  classy  sleuth,  which  he  don't  object  to 
at  all.  In  fact,  after  I've  explained  how  a 
relation  of  Allston's  had  asked  me  to  look  him 
up  he  fixes  it  so  I  can  get  a  pass  into  the  Tombs. 
Followin'  which  I  blows  Whitey  to  one  of  Far- 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      161 

roni's  seventy-five-cent  spaghetti  banquets  and 
then  goes  home  to  think  a  few  chunks  of 
thought. 

As  the  case  stood  it  looked  bad  for  Daddums. 
A  party  like  Mrs.  Connie  Murtha,  with  all  the 
police  drag  she  must  have,  wa'n't  goin'  to  be 
separated  from  her  reserve  roll  without  makin' 
somebody  squirm  good  and  plenty.  He  might 
have  known  that,  if  it  was  him  turned  the  trick. 
Or  was  he  nutty,  like  Donahue  had  said?  Be- 
fore I  went  any  further  I  had  to  settle  that 
point,  and  while  I  ain't  strong  for  payin' 
visits  through  the  iron  bars  I  was  up 
early  next  mornin'  and  down  presentin'  my 
pass. 

"You  cub  lawyers  give  me  shootin*  pains  in 
the  neck!"  grumbles  the  turnkey  that  tows 
me  in. 

"How'd  you  guess  I  wa'n't  the  new  District 
Attorney?"  says  I.  "Here,  have  a  perfecto  for 
that  pain."  And  that  soothes  him  so  much  he 
loafs  against  the  tier  rail  while  I  knocks  on  the 
door  of  Cell  69. 

"I  beg  pardon?"  says  a  deep,  smooth  voice, 
and  up  to  the  bars  steps  a  tall,  round-shoul- 
dered gent,  with  hair  a  little  thin  on  top  and 
a  pair  of  reddish-gray  butler  sideboards  in 
front  of  his  ears.  Not  a  bad  face  either,  only 
the  pointed  chin  is  a  little  weak. 

"I'm  from  Helma,"  says  I. 


162          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

That  jolts  him  at  the  start.  His  hands  go 
trembly,  and  twice  he  makes  a  stab  at  speakin' 
before  he  can  get  the  words  out.  "Is — isn't  she 
all  right?"  says  he.  "I  left  her  in  lodgings, 
you  know.  I — I  trust  she " 

"She  quit,"  says  I.  "They  was  goin'  to  put 
'  her  in  a  home.  Picked  me  up  on  the  street, 
you  might  say.  But  she's  safe  enough  now." 

"Safe!"  says  he,  dartin'  over  a  suspicious 
look.  "Where?" 

"Take  my  word  for  it,"  says  I.  "Maybe  we 
can  swap  a  little  information  later  on.  Now 
what  about  this  grand  larceny  charge?" 

"All  rubbish!"  says  he.  ""Why,  I  hadn't 
been  out  of  the  house!  They  admit  that.  If 
I'd  taken  the  money,  wouldn't  it  have  been 
found  on  me?" 

"Then  they  pinched  you  on  the  premises?" 
says  I.  "I  rather  thought  from  what  Helma 
said  you'd  been  to  see  her  that  night?" 

"Not  since  the  night  before,"  says  he. 
"Helma  was  down  in  the  kitchen  with  Cook 
when  they  came." 

"Huh!"  says  I,  rubbin'  my  chin  as  a  help 
to  deep  thought.  "The  night  before?" 

I  don't  know  why,  either,  but  somehow  that 
makes  me  think  of  sawdust,  and  from  sawdust 
— say,  I  had  it  in  a  flash. 

"Sorry,  Allston,"  says  I,  "but  on  account 
of  Helma  I  was  kind  of  in  hopes  they  was  just 


TOECHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      163 

makin'  a  goat  of  you.  She's  a  cute  youngster 
—Helma." 

"She  is  all  I  have  to  live  for,  Sir,"  says  he, 
bowin'  his  head. 

' '  Then  why  take  such  chances  as  this  ? ' '  says 
I.  "Twenty  thousand!  Say,  you  know  this 
ain't  any  jay  burg.  You  can't  expect  to  get 
away  with  a  wad  like  that." 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  money,"  says  he, 
stiff enin'  up.  "They'll  have  to  find  it  to  prove 
I  took  it." 

"Big  mistake  No.  2,"  says  I.  "They  got  to 
convict  somebody,  and  the  arrow  points  to  you. 
About  fifteen  years  would  be  my  guess.  Now 
come,  Allston,  what  good  would  you  be  after 
fifteen  years'  hard?" 

He  shivers,  but  shrugs  his  shoulders  dogged. 
"Poor  little  Helma!"  says  he.  "Where  is 
she?" 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Allston,"  says  I,  "but  that 
ain't  the  order  of  events.  It's  like  this:  First 
off  you  tell  me  where  the  wad  is;  then  I  tell 
you  about  Helma." 

Makes  him  groan  a  bit,  that  does,  and  he 
scowls  at  me  stubborn.  "They  tried  all  that 
on  at  Headquarters,"  says  he.  "It's  no  use." 

"You'd  get  off  lighter  if  you  told,"  says  I. 

"I've  nothing  to  tell,"  he  insists. 

"How  about  swappin'  what  you  know  for  two 
tickets  to  Australia?"  I  suggests. 


164          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Hah!"  says  he.     "Helma's  been  talkin'!" 

"She's  a  chatty  youngster,"  says  I,  "and  she 
thinks  a  heap  of  her  Daddums.  I  ain't  sure, 
though,  whether  you  come  first — or  Ara- 
bella." 

If  I  hadn't  been  watchin'  for  it,  I  might  not 
have  noticed,  but  the  quiver  that  begins  in 
the  fingers  grippin'  the  bars  runs  clear  up  to 
the  sagged  shoulders.  His  mouth  twitches  nerv- 
ous, and  then  he  gets  hold  of  himself. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  he,  forcin'  a  smile.  "Her 
doll.  She — she  still  has  that,  has  she?" 

"Uh-huh!"  says  I,  watchin'  him  keen.  "I'm 
keepin'  close  track  of  both." 

That  little  touch  did  the  business.  He  be- 
gins pacin'  up  and  down  his  cell,  wringin'  his 
hands.  About  the  fourth  lap  he  stops. 

"If  I  only  could  take  her  to  Australia,"  says 
he,  "and  get  her  out  of — of  all  this,  I  would 
be  willing  to — to " 

"That's  enough,"  says  I.  "All  I  want  is 
your  0.  K.  on  any  terms  I  can  make  with  Mrs. 
Murtha." 

"She's  a  hard  woman,"  says  he.  "And  she 
doesn  't  come  by  her  money  straight. "  , 

"Nor  lose  it  easy,"  says  I.  "She  wants  it 
back.  Might  talk  business,  though,  if  I  could 
show  her  how " 

"Anything!"  says  Allston.  "Anything  to- 
get  me  out!" 


TOECHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      165 

"Now  you're  usin'  your  bean,"  says  I. 
"I'm  off.  Maybe  you'll  hear  from  me 
later." 

Course  I  didn't  know  what  could  be  done, 
but  I  'phones  Piddle  at  the  office  to  tell  'em 
I  won't  be  in  before  lunch,  and  then  I  boards 
an  uptown  subway  express.  Easy  enough 
findin'  Mrs.  Connie  Murtha  too.  She's  just 
finished  a  ten  o'clock  breakfast.  A  big,  well- 
built,  dashin'  sort  of  party  she  is,  with  an 
enameled  complexion  and  drugged  hair.  She's 
brisk  and  businesslike. 

'  *  If  you  've  come  to  beg  me  to  let  up  on  that 
sneaking  English  butler,"  says  she,  "you 
needn't  waste  any  more  breath.  He's  going 
to  do  time  for  this  job." 

"But  suppose  he  could  be  coaxed  into  tellin' 
where  the  loot  was?"  says  I. 

"He's  had  the  third  degree  good  and 
strong,"  says  she.  "The  boys  told  me  so.  He 
won't  squeal.  Donahue  says  he  ain't  right  in 
his  head.  Anyway,  he  goes  up. " 

"He's  leavin'  a  little  girl,"  I  puts  in,  "with- 
out  anyone  to  look  after  her." 

"Most  crooks  do,"  says  she,  sniffin'. 

"But  if  you  could  get  the  wad  back?"  says  I. 

"All  of  it?"  says  she  quick. 

' '  Every  bean, ' '  says  I. 

She  leans  forward,  starin'  at  me  hard  and 
eager.  "He'll  tell,  then?"  says  she. 


166  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

''Said  he  would,"  says  I,  "providin'  him  and 
the  little  girl  could  be  shipped  to  Australia. ' ' 

She  chews  that  over  a  minute.  ' '  That 's  cheap 
enough,"  says  she.  "I  could  claim  I'd  remem- 
bered putting  the  money  somewhere  and  forgot- 
ten. Young  man,  it's  a  bargain.  I'll  have  my 
lawyer  go  down  and " 

"Say,"  I  breaks  in,  "why  fat  up  a  lawyer? 
Let's  settle  this  between  you  and  me." 

"But  how?"  says  she. 

"Just  a  minute,"  says  I,  lookin'  her  full  in 
the  eyes.  "I'm  playin'  you  to  give  Allston  a 
square  deal,  you  know." 

"You  can  bank  on  that,"  says  she.  "Connie 
Murtha's  word  was  always  as  good  as  govern- 
ment bonds.  And  if  you  can  wish  back  that 
twenty  thousand,  I'll  put  a  quick  crimp  in  this 
prosecution. ' ' 

"What  could  be  fairer  than  that?"  says  I. 
"I'll  be  back  in  an  hour." 

It  was  only  forty-five  minutes,  in  fact;  but 
Mrs.  Connie  was  watchin'  for  me. 

"Let's  have  a  pair  of  scissors,"  says  I,  as  I 
sheds  my  overcoat  and  produced  from  under 
one  arm,  where  it  had  been  buttoned  up  snug 
and  tight,  about  the  worst-lookin'  doll  you  ever 
saw.  I  hadn't  figured  on  Mrs.  Murtha  goin' 
huffy  so  sudden,  either. 

"You  fresh  young  shrimp  you!"  she  blazes 
out.  "What's  that?" 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      167 

"This  is  Arabella,"  says  I.  "She's  suf- 
ferin'  from  a  bad  case  of  undigested  securi- 
ties, and  I  got  to  amputate. ' ' 

She  stands  by  watchin'  the  operation  sus- 
picious and  ready  to  lam  me  one  on  the  ear? 
I  expect.  But  on  the  way  down  I'd  sounded 
Arabella's  chest,  and  I  was  backin'  my  guess. 
When  I  found  the  coarse  stitchin'  done  with 
heavy  black  thread  I  chuckles. 

"More  or  less  the  worse  for  wear,  Arabella, 
eh?"  says  I.  "But  how  that  youngster  did 
hang  onto  her!  Little  Helma  Allston,  you 
know.  And  me  offerin'  to  swap  a  brand-new 
two-dollar  one  that  could  open  and  shut  its 
eyes!  'It's  for  Daddums,'  I  says  at  last,  and 
she  gives  up.  There!  Now  we're  gettin'  to 
it.  No  wonder  Arabella  was  some  plump!" 

"Well,  of  all  places ! ' '  gasps  out  Mrs.  "Murtha, 
and,  believe  me,  it  don't  take  her  long  to  leave 
Arabella  flat  as  a  pancake.  "But  how  did  he 
manage  to " 

"It  was  the  night  before,"  says  I.  "You 
didn't  miss  the  roll  until  the  next  afternoon. 
And  he  ain't  a  reg'lar  crook,  you  know.  It 
was  a  case  of  bein'  up  against  it, — sickness, 
and  wantin'  to  get  away  somewhere  with  the 
kid.  Honest,  he  don't  strike  me  as  such  a  bad 
lot:  only  a  little  limber  in  the  backbone.  Bet- 
ter count  it." 

"All  there,"  she  announces  after  runnin* 


168          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

through  the  bunch.  "And  maybe  I'm  not 
tickled  to  get  it  back!  Catch  me  forgetting 
to  lock  that  safe  again!  But  I  thought  no 
one  knew.  Allston  must  have  seen  me  moving 
the  picture  and  guessed.  Well,  I'm  not  sore. 
Poor  devil!  I'll  call  up  the  District  Attorney's 
office  right  away.  He  gets  those  tickets  to  Aus- 
tralia, too.  Leave  that  to  me." 

Yep!  Mrs.  Connie  wa'n't  chuckin'  any  bluff. 
She  went  down  herself  and  had  the  indictment 
ditched. 

I  didn't  mean  to  stage  any  heart-throb  piece, 
either ;  but  it  just  happens  that  yesterday,  when 
we  pulls  off  the  final  act,  Vee  tells  me  that 
Helma  is  in  the  libr'y,  playin'  nurse  and  hair- 
dresser to  Aunty's  chief  pet,  a  big  orange  Per- 
sian that  she  calls  Prince  Hal.  That's  how 
Helma  had  won  out  with  Aunty,  you  know,  by 
makin'  friends  with  the  cat. 

"You  tell  her,"  says  Vee. 

So  I  steps  in  quiet  where  the  youngster  is 
busy  with  the  comb  and  brush.  ' '  Someone  spe- 
cial to  see  Miss  Helma,"  says  I. 

"To  see  me?"  says  she,  droppin'  pussy  and 

gazin'  at  the  door.  "Why,  who  can O-o- 

o-o-o !  Daddums !  Daddums ! ' ' 

And  as  they  rush  to  a  fond  clinch  in  one 
room  something  happens  to  me  in  the  other. 
Uh-huh!  I'm  caught  around  the  neck  quick, 
and  something  soft  and  sweet  hits  me  on  the 


TORCHY  GETS  AN  INSIDE  TIP      169 

right  cheek,  and  the  next  minute  I'm  bein' 
pushed  away  just  as  sudden. 

"No,  no!"  says  Vee.  "That's  enough. 
You  're  a  dear,  all  the  same.  Of  course  I  knew 
he  didn't  take  it;  but  how  in  the  world  did  you 
ever  make  them  let  him  go?" 

"Cinch!"  says  I.  "I  saw  through  the  saw- 
dust, and  they  didn't." 

I  couldn't  let  on,  though,  about  that  inside 
tip  I  got  from  Arabella. 


CHAPTER  X 


IT  looked  like  it  was  Kick-in  Day,  or  some- 
thing like  that;  for  here  was  Nutt  Hamilton, 
a  sporty  young  plute  friend  of  Mr.  Robert's, 
that  I'm  tryin'  to  entertain,  camped  in  the 
private  office,  when  fair-haired  Vincent  comes 
in  off  the  brass  gate  to  report  respectful  this 
new  arrival. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  Mr.  Robert,  Sir,"  says 
he. 

"Well,  he's  still  out,"  says  I. 

"So  I  told  him,  Sir,"  says  Vincent;  "but 
then  he  asks  if  Mr.  Ferdinand  isn't  here.  I 
didn't  know,  Sir.  Is  there  a " 

' '  Sure,  Vincent,  sure ! ' '  says  I.  '  *  Brother-in- 
law  Ferdie,  you  know.  What's  the  gentleman's 
real  name?" 

"Mr.  Blair  Hiscock,"  says  Vincent,  readin' 
the  card. 

' '  Ever  hear  that  one  ? "  I  asks  Hamilton,  and 
he  says  he  ain't.  "Must  be  some  fam'ly  friend, 
though,"  I  goes  on.  "We'll  take  a  chance,  Vin- 
cent. Tell  Blair  to  breeze  in." 

170 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   171 

I  might  have  had  bean  enough  to  have  looked 
for  another  pair  of  shell-rimmed  glasses  too. 
That's  what  shows  up.  Only  this  party,  in- 
stead of  beamin '  mild  and  foolish  through  'em, 
same  as  Ferdie  does,  stares  through  his  sort  of 
peevish.  He's  a  pale-haired,  sharp-faced,  un- 
dersized young  gent  too,  and  dressed  sort  of 
finicky  in  one  of  them  Ballyhooly  cape  coats, 
an  artist  necktie,  and  a  two-story  soft  hat  with 
a  striped  scarf  wound  around  it. 

"Well?"  says  I,  leanin'  back  in  the  swing 
chair  and  doin'  my  best  to  spring  the  genial 
smile. 

" Isn't  Ferdinand  here,  then?"  he  demands, 
glancin'  about  impatient. 

"Good  guess,"  says  I.  "He  ain't.  Drifts 
in  about  once  a  month,  though,  as  a  rule,  and 
as  it's  been  three  weeks  or  so  since  he  was 
here  last,  maybe  you'd  like  to " 

"How  absurd!"  snaps  Blair.  "But  he  was 
to  meet  me  here  to-day  at  this  time." 

"Was,  eh?"  says  I.  "Well,  if  you 
know  Ferdie,  you  can  gamble  that  he'll  be 
an  hour  or  two  behind,  if  he  gets  here  at 
all." 

"Thanks,"  says  Blair,  real  crisp.  "You 
needn't  bother.  I  fancy  I  know  Ferdie  quite 
as  well  as  you  do." 

"Oh,  I  wa'n't  boastin',"  says  I,  "and  you 
don't  bother  me  a  bit.  If  you  think  Ferdie 's 


172          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

liable  to  remember,  you're  welcome  to  stick 
around  as  long  as " 

"I'll  wait  half  an  hour,  anyway,"  he  breaks 
in. 

1  'Then  you  might  as  well  meet  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton," says  I.  "Friend  of  Mr.  Robert's — Mar- 
jorie's  too,  I  expect." 

The  two  of  'em  nods  casual,  and  then  I  no- 
tices Nutt  take  a  closer  look.  A  second  later 
a  humorous  quirk  flickers  across  his  wide 
face. 

"Well,  well!"  says  he.  "It's  Sukey,  isn't 
it?" 

At  which  Mr.  Hiscock  winces  like  he'd  been 
jabbed  with  a  pin.  He  flushes  up  too,  and  his 
thin-lipped,  narrow  mouth  takes  on  a  pout. 

"I  don't  care  to  be  called  that,"  he  snaps 
back. 

"  Eh  f  "  says  Nutt.  ' '  Sorry,  old  man ;  but  you 
know,  up  at  the  camp  summer  before  last — why, 
everyone  called  you  Sukey." 

"A  lot  of  bounders  they  were  too !"  flares  out 
Blair.  "I— I'd  asked  them  not  to.  And  I'll 
not  stand  it!  So  there!" 

"Oh!"  says  Hamilton,  grinnin'  tantalizin'. 
"My  error.  I  take  back  the  Sukey,  Mr. 
Hiscock. ' ' 

There's  some  contrast  between  the  pair  as 
they  faces  each  other, — young  Hiscock  all  bris- 
tled up  bantam  like  and  glarin'  through  his 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   173 

student  panes;  while  Nutt  Hamilton,  who'd 
make  three  of  him,  tilts  back  easy  in  the  heavy 
office  arm-chair  until  he  makes  it  creak,  and 
just  chuckles. 

He's  a  chronic  josher,  Nutt  is, — always  put- 
tin'  up  some  deep  and  elaborate  game  on  Mr. 
Robert,  or  relatin'  by  the  hour  the  horse-play 
stunts  he's  pulled  on  others.  A  bit  heavy,  his 
sense  of  humor  is,  I  judge.  His  idea  of  a  per- 
fectly good  joke  is  to  call  up  a  bald-headed 
waiter  at  the  club  and  crack  a  soft-boiled  egg 
on  his  White  Way,  or  balance  a  water  cooler  on 
top  of  a  door  so  that  the  first  party  to  walk 
under  gets  soaked  by  it, — playful  little  stunts 
like  that.  And  between  times,  when  he  ain't 
makin'  merry  around  town,  he's  off  on  huntin' 
trips,  killin'  things  with  portable  siege  guns. 
You  know  the  kind,  maybe. 

So  we  ain't  the  chummiest  trio  that  could  be 
got  together.  Blair  makes  it  plain  that  he  has 
mighty  little  use  for  me,  and  still  less  for  Ham- 
ilton. But  Nutt  seems  to  get  a  lot  of  satisfac- 
tion in  keepin'  him  stirred  up,  winkin'  now  and 
then  at  me  when  he  gets  a  rise  out  of  Blair; 
though  I  must  say,  so  far  as  repartee  went, 
the  little  chap  had  all  the  best  of  it. 

11  Let's  see,"  says  Nutt,  "what  is  your  spe- 
cialty? You  do  something  or  other,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  says  Blair.    "Do  you?" 


174          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Oh,  come!"  says  Nutt.  "You  play  the  vio- 
lin, don't  you!" 

"How  clever  of  you  to  remember!"  says 
Blair.  "Sorry  I  can't  reciprocate."  And  he 
turns  his  back. 

But  you  can't  squelch  Hamilton  that  way. 
"Me?"  says  he.  "Oh,  potting  big  game  is  my 
fad.  I  got  three  caribou  last  fall,  you  know, 
and  this  spring  I'm — say,  Sukey, — I  beg  your 
pardon,  Hiscock, — but  you  ought  to  come  along 
with  us.  Do  you  good.  Put  some  meat  on  your 
bones.  We're  going  'way  up  into  Montana 
after  black  bear  and  silver-tips.  I'd  like  to 
see  you  facing  a  nine-hundred-pound  she  bear 
with " 

"Would  you!"  cuts  in  Blair.  "You  know 
very  well  I'd  be  frightened  half  to  death." 

"Oh,  well,"  says  Nutt,  "we'd  stack  you  up 
against  a  cinnamon  cub." 

"Any  kind  of  bear  I  should  be  afraid  of," 
says  Sukey. 

"Not  really!"  says  Hamilton.  "Why, 
say " 

"Please!"  protests  Blair.  "I  don't  care  to 
talk  about  such  creatures.  I'm  afraid  of  them 
even  when  I  see  them  caged.  I've  an  in- 
stinctive dread  of  all  big  beasts.  Smile,  if 
you  like.  But  all  truly  civilized  persons  feel 
the  same.  I'm  not  a  cave  man,  you  know.  Be- 
sides, I  prefer  telling  the  truth  about  such 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   175 

things  to  making  believe  I'm  not  afraid,  as  a 
lot  of  would-be  mighty  hunters  do." 

"Not  meaning  me,  I  hope?"  asks  Nutt. 

"If  you're  innocent,  don't  dodge,"  says 
Blair.  "And  I— I  think  I'll  not  wait  for  Fer- 
dinand any  longer.  Tell  him  I  was  here,  will 
you  I ' '  And  with  a  nod  to  me  he  does  a  snappy 
exit. 

"A  constant  joy,  Sukey  is,"  remarks  Hamil- 
ton. "Why,  when  we  were  up  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks  that  summer,  we  used  to " 

What  they  used  to  do  to  Sukey  I'll  never 
know;  for  just  then  Mr.  Eobert  sails  in,  and 
Nutt  breaks  off  the  account.  He'd  spieled 
along  for  half  an  hour  in  his  usual  vein  when 
Mr.  Eobert  flags  him  long  enough  to  call  me 
over. 

"By  the  way,  Torchy,"  says  Mr.  Eobert, 

"before  I  forget  it "  and  he  hands  me  one 

of  Marjorie's  cards  with  a  date  and  "Music" 
written  in  the  southwest  corner.  I  gazes  at  it 
puzzled. 

"I  strongly  suspect,"  he  goes  on,  "that  a 
certain  young  lady  may  be  among  those  pres- 
ent." 

"Oh!"  says  I,  pinkin'  up  some,  I  expect. 
"Much  obliged.  In  that  case  I'm  strong  for 
music.  Some  swell  piano  performer,  eh?" 

"A  young  violinist,"  says  Mr.  Eobert,  "a 
friend  of  Ferdie's,  I  believe,  who " 


176          TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

1  'Bet  a  million  it's  Sukey!"  breaks  in  Nutt. 
"Blair  Hiscock,  isn't  it?" 

"That  is  his  name,"  admits  Mr.  Eobert. 
"But  this  is  to  be  nothing  formal,  you  know: 
only  Marjorie  is  bringing  him  down  to  the 
house,  and  has  asked  in  a  few  people." 

"By  George!"  says  Nutt,  slappin'  his  knee 
enthusiastic.  * '  Couldn  't  you  get  me  in  on  that 
affair,  Bob?" 

"Why — er — I  might,"  says  Mr.  Eobert.  "I 
didn't  know,  though,  that  you  were  passion- 
ately fond  of  violin  music.  It's  to  be  rather 
a  classical  programme,  and " 

"Classic  be  blowed!"  says  Nutt.  "What  I 
want  is  a  fair  whack  at  Sukey.  Seen  him, 
haven't  you!" 

Mr.  Eobert  shakes  his  head. 

"Well,  wait  until  you  do,"  says  Hamilton. 
"Say,  he's  a  rare  treat,  Sukey.  About  as  big 
as  a  fox  terrier,  and  just  as  snappy.  Oh,  you'll 
love  Sukey!  If  he  doesn't  hand  you  something 
peppery  before  you've  known  him  ten  minutes, 
then  I'm  mistaken.  Know  what  he  used  to  call 
your  sister  Marjorie,  summer  before  last? 
Baby  Dimple!  After  a  golf  ball,  you  know. 
That's  a  sample  of  Sukey 's  tongue." 

Mr.  Eobert  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "Quite 
her  own  affair,  I  suppose,"  says  he. 

"Oh,  she  didn't  mind,"  says  Nutt.  "Every- 
one stands  for  Sukey — on  account  of  his  music. 


THEN  ALONG-  CAME  SUKEY   177 

Only  lie  is  such  a  conceited,  snobbish  little 
whelp  that  it  makes  you  ache  to  cuff  him. 
Couldn't,  of  course.  Why,  he'll  begin  sniveling 
if  you  look  cross  at  him!  But  it  would  be 

great  sport  to Say,  Bob,  who's  going  to 

be  there — anyone  special!"  I 

"Only  the  family,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  "and  a 
few  of  Marjorie's  friends,  such  as  Verona  Hem- 
mingway  and — er — Torchy  here,  and  Josephine 
Billings,  who's  just  come  for  the  week-end." 

"What!"  says  Hamilton.  "Joey  Billings? 
Say,  she's  a  good  sort,  Joey;  bully  fun,  and 
always  in  for  anything.  You  ought  to  see  her 
shoot!  Yes,  Sir!  Bring  down  quail  with  a 
choke-bore,  or  knock  over  a  buck  deer  with  a 
rifle.  Plays  billiards  like  a  wizard,  Joey  does, 
and  can  swat  a  golf  ball  off  the  tee  for  two  hun- 
dred yards.  She's  a  star.  Staying  at  Ferdie's, 
eh  I  Must  be  a  great  combination,  she  and 
Sukey.  I'd  like  to  see  'em  together.  Say,  old 
man,  let  me  in  on  this  musicfest  if  you  can, 
will  you?" 

Course  there  wa'n't  much  left  for  Mr.  Robert 
to  do  but  promise,  and  while  he  don't  do  it  with 
any  great  enthusiasm,  Mr.  Hamilton  don't  seem 
a  bit  discouraged.  In  fact,  just  before  he  goes 
he  has  a  chucklin'  fit  like  he'd  been  struck  by 
some  amazin'  comic  thought. 

"I  have  it,  Bob!"  says  he,  poundin'  Mr.  Rob- 
ert on  the  back.  "I  have  it!" 


178          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Anything  you're  likely  to  recover  from1?" 
remarks  Mr.  Robert. 

"Never  mind,"  says  Nutt.  "You  wait  and 
see!  And  the  first  chance  you  get  ask  Sukey 
if  he's  afraid  of  bears." 

Just  to  finish  off  the  afternoon  too,  and  make 
the  Corrugated  gen'ral  offices  seem  more  like 
a  fam'ly  meetin'  place,  about  four  o'clock  in 
blows  Sister  Marjorie  from  the  shoppin'  dis- 
trict, trailin'  a  friend  with  her;  a  stranger 
too.  First  off,  from  a  hasty  glimpse  at  the 
hard-boiled  lid  and  the  man's  collar  and  the 
loose-fittin'  top  coat,  I  thought  it  was  some 
chappy.  So  it's  more  or  less  of  a  shock  when 
I  discovers  the  short  skirt  and  the  high  walkin* 
boots  below.  Then  I  tumbled.  It's  Joey,  the 
real  sport! 

Believe  me,  she  looked  the  part!  One  of 
these  female  good  fellows,  you  know,  ready  to 
roll  her  own  dope  sticks,  or  sit  in  with  the  boys 
and  draw  three  to  a  pair.  Built  substantial 
and  heavy,  Joey  was,  but  not  lumpy,  like  Mar- 
jorie. She  swings  in  swaggery,  gives  Mr.  Rob- 
ert the  college  hick  greeting  and  when  I'm  in- 
troduced to  her  treats  me  to  a  grip  that  I  felt 
the  tingle  of  for  half  an  hour. 

' ' Hello,  Kid ! ' '  says  she.  " I've  heard  of  you. 
Torchy,  eh!  Well,  the  name's  a  fine  fit." 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "I  was  baptized  with  my  hat 
off." 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   179 

"Ripping!"  says  she.  "I like,  that.  Torchy! 
Couldn't  be  better." 

"Not  so  poetic  as  Crimson  Rambler,"  says 
I,  "but  easier  to  remember." 

Hearty  chuckles  from  Joey.  "You're  all 
right,  Torchy,"  says  she,  rumplin'  my  hair 
playful. 

Not  at  all  hard  to  get  acquainted  with,  Joey. 
One  of  the  free  and  easy  kind  that  gets  to  call 
men  by  their  front  names  durin'  the  first  half- 
hour.  But  somehow  them's  the  ones  that  al- 
ways seem  to  hang  longest  on  the  branch. 
You've  noticed!  Take  Joey  now, — well  along 
towards  thirty,  so  I  finds  out  later,  but  still 
untagged  and  unchosen.  Maybe  she  likes  it 
better  that  way.  Who  knows?  And,  as  Nutt 
Hamilton  has  suggested,  it  would  be  int'restin' 
to  see  her  and  Sukey  lined  up  together. 

That  ain't  exactly  why  I'm  so  early  showin' 
up  at  the  Ellins '  house  the  night  of  the  musical 
— not  altogether.  But  what  Vee  and  I  has  to 
say  to  one  another  durin'  the  half -hour  we  man- 
aged to  slip  over  on  Aunty  don't  matter.  Vee 
was  supposed  to  be  arrangin'  some  flowers  in 
the  drawin'  room,  and  I — well,  I  was  helpin*. 
My  long  suit,  arrangin'  flowers;  that  is,  when 
the  planets  are  right. 

But  it  goes  quick.  Pretty  soon  others  be- 
gun buttin'  in,  and  by  eight-thirty  there  was 
a  roomful,  includin'  Vee's  Aunty,  who  watches 


180          TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

me  as  severe  as  if  I  was  a  New  Haven  director. 
Joey  Billings  floats  in  too.  And  I  got  to  admit 
that  in  an  evenin'  gown  she  ain't  such  a  worse 
looker.  Course  her  jaw  outline  is  a  trifle 
strong,  and  she  has  quite  a  swing  to  her  hips ; 
but  she's  so  good-natured  and  cheerful  lookin' 
that  you  'most  forget  them  trifles. 

And  Blair  Hiscock,  in  his  John  Drew  re- 
galia, looks  even  thinner  and  whiter  than  ever ; 
but  he  struts  around  as  perky  and  important 
as  if  he  was  Big  Bill  Edwards.  First  off  he 
has  to  have  the  piano  turned  the  other  way. 
Then,  when  he  goes  to  unlimber  his  music  rack, 
it  develops  that  a  big  vase  of  American  Beau- 
ties is  too  near  his  elbow.  He  glares  at  'em 
pettish. 

" Can't  those  things  be  taken  out?"  says  he. 
"I  detest  heavy  odors  while  I'm  playin'!" 

So  the  flowers  are  carted  off.  Then  some 
draperies  just  back  of  him  must  be  pulled  to- 
gether, so  he  won't  feel  a  draught.  After  that 
he  has  the  usual  battle  with  his  violin  strings, 
while  the  audience  waits  patient,  only  ex- 
changin'  a  smile  now  and  then  when  Blair 
shows  his  disposition  strongest. 

At  last,  though,  after  makin'  the  accom- 
/  panist  take  two  fresh  starts,  he's  off.  Some 
goulash  rhapsody,  I  believe  it  was,  by  a  guy 
whose  name  sounds  like  a  sneezin*  fit.  But, 
take  it  from  me,  that  sharp-faced  little  wisp 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   181 

could  do  things  to  a  violin !  Zowie !  He  could 
just  naturally  make  it  sing,  with  weeps  and 
laughs,  and  moans  and  giggles,  and  groans  and 
cusswords,  all  strung  along  a  jumpy,  jerky  lit- 
tle air  that  sort  of  played  hide  and  seek  with 
itself.  Music?  I  should  quiver!  He  had  us 
>  all  sittin'  up  with  our  ears  stretched,  and  when 
he  finishes  and  the  applause  starts  in  like  a 
sudden  shower  on  a  tin  roof  what  does  he  do 
but  turn  away  with  a  bored  look  and  shoot  some 
spicy  remark  at  the  young  lady  pianist! 

Next  he  gives  a  lullaby  kind  of  thing,  that's 
as  sweet  and  touchin'  as  anything  Farrar  or 
Gluck  could  put  over.  He's  just  windin'  that 
up  and  we're  gettin'  ready  with  more  hand- 
claps, when 

1 '  Woof!     Woof-woof!" 

Some  of  the  ladies  gasps  panicky.  I  got  a  lit- 
tle start  myself,  before  I  tumbled  to  what  it 
was ;  for  in  through  the  draperies  behind  Sukey 
has  shuffled  about  as  good  an  imitation  of  a 
black  bear  as  you'd  want  to  see;  a  big,  bulky 
bear,  all  complete,  even  to  the  dishpan  paws 
and  the  wicked  little  eyes.  It's  scuffin'  along 

on  all-fours,  waddlin'  lifelike  from  side  to  side 

\  * 

"and  lettin'  out  that  deep,  grumbly  "Woof! 
Woof!"  remark. 

Blair  is  so  deep  in  his  music  that  he  don't 
hear  it  for  a  minute.  Then  he  must  have  caught 
on  from  the  folks  in  front  that  something  was 


182          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

up.  He  stops,  glarin'  indignant  through  his 
big  glasses.  Then  he  turns. 

It  wa'n't  exactly  a  scream  he  lets  out,  nor 
a  moan.  It's  the  sort  of  a  weird,  muffled  noise 
you'll  sometimes  make  in  your  sleep,  after  a 
late  welsh  rabbit.  I  didn't  think  he  could  turn 
any  whiter;  but  he  does.  His  face  has  about 
as  much  color  left  in  it  as  a  marshmallow. 

Then  the  thing  on  the  floor  rears  up  on  its 
hind  legs  until  it  tops  Blair  by  two  feet,  and 
there  comes  another  of  them  deep  "Woofs!" 

I  was  lookin '  for  him  to  pass  away  complete ; 
but  he  don't.  He  sets  his  jaw,  tosses  his  violin 
on  a  chair,  grabs  the  music  rack,  and  swings 
it  over  his  shoulder  defiant. 

"Come  on,  you  brute!"  he  breathes  husky. 
"I  don't  know  what  you  are;  but " 

Just  what  happens  next,  though,  is  a  cry  of 
* '  Shame,  shame ! ' '  Someone  dashes  from  the 
back  row  of  chairs,  and  we  sees  Joey  Billings 
makin'  a  clutch  at  the  bear's  head.  It  came 
off  too,  with  a  rip  of  snap  hooks,  and  reveals 
Nutt  Hamilton 's  big  moon  face  with  a  wide  grin 
on  it. 

"You,  eh!"  says  Joey.  "I  thought  as  much. 
Your  old  masquerade  trick!  And  anyone  else 
would  have  had  better  sense.  Don't  you  think 
you're  beast  enough  without " 

"Stop!"  breaks  in  Blair,  his  lips  blue  and 
trembly  and  the  tears  beginnin'  to  trickle  down 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   183 

his  nose.  "You — you've  no  right  to  interfere. 
I — I  was  going  to  smash  him.  I'll  kill  the  big 
brute!  I— I'll " 

Once  more  Joey  does  the  right  thing;  for 
Blair  is  blubberin'  hysterical  and 'the  scene  is 
gettin'  worse.  So  she  just  tucks  him  under  one 
arm,  claps  a  hand  over  his  mouth,  and  lugs  him 
kickin'  and  strugglin'  into  the  lib'ry,  givin' 
Nutt  a  shove  to  one  side  as  she  brushes  by. 

You  can  guess  too  there  was  some  panicky 
doin's  in  the  Ellins's  drawin'  room  for  the  next 
few  minutes;  Mr.  Eobert  and  Marjorie  and 
others  tryin'  to  tell  Hamilton  what  they  thought 
of  him,  all  at  the  same  time.  And  Nutt  was 
takin'  it  sheepish. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  he  protests.  "I  was  only  try- 
ing to  have  a  bit  of  fun  with  the  little  runt, 
you  know.  I  only  meant  to " 

*  *  Fun ! ' '  breaks  in  Mr.  Robert  savage.  ' '  This 
is  neither  a  backwoods  barroom  nor  a  hunting 
camp,  and  I  want  to  assure  you  right  now,  Ham- 
ilton, that " 

But  in  comes  young  Blair  again.  He's  had 
the  tear  stains  swabbed  off,  and  he's  got  some 
I  of  his  color  back;  but  he's  still  wabbly  in  the 
knees.  He  pushes  right  to  the  front,  though. 

"I  suppose  you  all  think  me  a  great  baby," 
says  he,  "to  get  so  frightened  and  to  cry  over 
such  a  silly  trick.  Perhaps  I  am  a  baby.  At 
least  I  haven't  control  of  my  nerves.  Would 


184          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

you,  though,  if  you  had  been  an  invalid  for  fif- 
teen years'?  Well,  I  have.  And  a  good  part 
of  that  time,  you  know,  I  spent  in  hospitals  and 
sanatoriums,  and  traveling  around  with  trained 
nurses  and  three  or  four  relatives  to  wait  on  me 
and  humor  my  whims.  Even  when  I  was  study- 
ing music  abroad  it  was  that  way.  And  I  sup- 
pose I'm  not  really  strong  now.  So  I  couldn't 
help  being  afraid.  But  I  don't  want  your  sym- 
pathy. You  need  not  scold  Hamilton  any  more, 
either.  He  can't  help  being  a  big  bully  any 
more  than  I  can  help  acting  like  a  baby.  He 
doesn't  know  any  better — never  will.  All  beef 
and  no  brains!  And  at  that  I  don't  care  to 
change  places  with  him.  Some  day  I  shall  be 
well  and  fairly  strong.  He'll  never  have  any 
better  sense  or  manners  than  he  has  now.  And 
I  prefer  to  fight  my  own  battles.  So  let  it  drop, 
please." 

Well,  they  did.  But  for  the  first  time,  I  ex- 
pect, a  few  cuttin'  remarks  got  through  Nutt 
Hamilton's  thick  hide.  He  shuffles  out  of  his 
bear  skin  and  sneaks  off  with  his  head  down. 

He'd  hardly  gone  when  Vee  slips  up  beside 
me  and  touches  me  on  the  arm.  "We  can't  do 
anything  with  her,"  she  whispers  mysterious. 
"Don't  say  a  word,  but  come." 

"Can't  do  anything  with  who?"  says  I. 

' '  Joey, ' '  says  she.  ' '  She 's  in  the  library,  and 
we  can't  find  out  what  is  the  matter." 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   185 

' '  Wha-a-at !    Joey  ? ' '  says  I. 

It's  a  fact,  though.  I  finds  Joey  slumped  on 
a  couch  with  her  shoulders  heavin'.  She 's  doin' 
the  sob  act  genuine  and  earnest. 

1 '  Well,  well ! ' '  says  I.    ' '  Why  the  big  weeps ! ' ' 

She  looks  up  and  sees  who  it  is.  ' '  Torchy ! ' ' 
says  she  between  sobs.  "  Dud-don 't  tell  him. 
Please!" 

"Tell  who?"  says  I. 

"B-b-b-blair,"  says  she.  "I — wouldn't  have 
him  know  for — for  anything.  But  he — he — 
what  he  said  hurt.  He — he  called  me  a  meddle- 
some old  maid.  It  was  something  I  had  to  do 
too.  I — I  thought  he'd  understand.  I — I 
thought  he  knew  I — I  liked  him!" 

"Eh?"  says  I  gaspy. 

"I've  never  cared  so  much  before — abou£ 
what  the  others  thought,"  she  goes  on.  "I'm 
just  Joey  to  them,  out  for  a  good  time.  I'll  al- 
ways be  Joey,  I  suppose,  to  most  of  them.  But 

I — I  thought  Blair  was  different,  you  know.  I — 
j » 

And  the  sobs  get  the  best  of  the  argument.  I 
glances  over  at  Vee  puzzled,  and  Vee  shrugs  her 
shoulders.  We  drifts  back  as  far  as  the  door. 

' '  Poor  Joey ! ' '  says  Vee. 

"Is  it  straight,"  says  I,  "about  her  and 
Blair!" 

Vee  nods.    ' '  Only  he  doesn 't  know, ' '  says  she. 

"Then  it's  time  he  did,"  says  I.  ' 


186  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

" There!"  says  Vee,  givin'  me  a  grateful 
look  that  tingles  clear  down  to  my  toes.  "I 
just  knew  you  could  help.  But  how  can " 

"Watch!"  says  I. 

I  finds  him  packin'  his  precious  violin  and 
preparin'  to  beat  it. 

"See  here,  Hiscock,"  says  I.  "Maybe  you 
think  you're  the  only  one  whose  feelin's  have 
been  hurt  this  evenin'." 

He  stares  at  me  grouchy. 

"Ah,  ditch  the  assault  and  battery!"  says  I. 
"It  ain't  me.  But  there's  someone  in  the 
lib'ry  you  could  soothe  with  a  word  or  two 
maybe.  Why  not  go  in  and  see  her?" 

"Her!"  says  he,  starin'  pop-eyed.  "You — 
you  don't  mean  Miss  Billings?" 

"Sure!"  says  I.  "Joey,  it's  you  she  wants, 

and  if  I  was  you  I'd "  But  he's  off  on  the 

run,  with  a  queer,  eager  look  on  his  face.  I 
don't  expect  there's  been  so  many  who've 
wanted  Sukey. 

But  the  worst  of  it  was  I  had  to  go  without 
hearin '  how  it  all  come  out.  Mr.  Robert  didn  't 
have  much  to  report  next  mornin',  either. 
"Oh,  we  left  them  in  the  library,  still  talking," 
says  he. 

It's  near  a  week  later  too  that  I  gets  any- 
thing more  definite.  Then  I  was  up  to  the 
Ellins's  on  an  errand  when  I  discovers  Blair 
waitin'  in  the  front  room.  He  greets  me  real 


THEN  ALONG  CAME  SUKEY   187 

cordial  and  friendly,  which  is  quite  a  jar.  A 
minute  later  down  the  stairs  floats  Marjorie 
and  her  friend  Miss  Billings. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  Joey!"  says  Blair, 
rushin'  out  and  grabbin'  her  by  the  arm  im- 
petuous. "Come  along.  I'm  going  to  take  you 
both  to  dinner  and  then  to  the  opera.  Come ! ' ' 

"Isn't  he  brutal?"  laughs  Joey,  pattin'  him 
folksy  on  the  cheek. 

So  I  take  it  there's  been  something  doin'  in 
the  solitaire  and  wilt-thou  line.  Some  cross- 
mated  pair  they'll  make;  but  I  ain't  so  sure 
it  won't  be  a  good  match. 

Anyway,  when  he  gets  her  as  a  side  partner, 
Sukey  needn't  do  any  more  worryin'  about 
bears. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TEAMWORK    WITH  AUNTY 

As  Mr.  Robert  hangs  up  the  desk  'phone  and 
turns  to  me  I  catches  him  smotherin'  a  smile. 
"Torchy,"  says  he,  "are  you  a  patron  of  the 
plastic  art  1 ' ' 

"Corns,  or  backache?"  says  I. 

"Not  plasters,"  says  he;  "plastic;  in  short, 
sculpture. ' ' 

' '  Never  sculped  a  sculpin, ' '  says  I.  ' '  What 's 
the  joke!" 

"On  the  contrary,"  says  he,  "it's  quite  seri- 
ous,— a  sculptor  in  distress ;  a  noble  young  Bel- 
gian at  that,  one  Djickyns,  in  whose  cause,  it 
seems,  I  was  rash  enough  to  enlist  at  a  recent 

dinner  party.  And  now "  Mr.  Robert 

waves  towards  his  piled-up  desk. 

"I'd  be  a  hot  substitute  along  that  line, 
wouldn't  If"  says  I. 

"As  I  understand  the  situation,"  goes  on 
Mr.  Robert,  "it  is  not  a  matter  of  giving 
artistic  advice,  but  of — er — financing  the  said 
Djickyns." 

"  Oh ! "  says  I.    * '  Slippin '  him  a  check  I ' ' 

188 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        189 

Mr.  Eobert  shakes  his  head.  "Nothing  so 
simple,"  says  he.  "One  doesn't  slip  checks 
to  noble  young  sculptors.  In  this  instance 
I  am  supposed  to  assist  in  outlining  a  plan 
whereby  certain  alleged  objects  of  art  may  be — 
er " 

"Wished  onto  suckers  in  exchange  for  real 
money,  eh ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  Ain  't  that  it ! " 

Mr.  Eobert  nods. 

"With  so  many  dividends  bein'  passed,"  says 
I,  "that's  goin'  to  take  some  strategy." 

"Hence  this  appeal  to  us,"  says  he.  "And 
I  might  add,  Torchy,  that  one  of  those  most  in- 
terested is  a  near  relative  of  a  certain  young 
lady  who " 

"Aunty?"  says  I. 

It  was.    So  I  grins  and  grabs  my  hat. 

"That  bein'  the  case,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I, 
"we'll  finance  this  Djickyns  party  if  we  have 
to  bull  the  sculpture  market  till  it  hits  the 
rafters." 

With  that  I  takes  the  address  of  the  scene  of 
trouble  and  breezes  uptown  to  a  third-rate 
studio  buildin';  where  I  finds  Aunty  and  Vee 
and  Sister  Marjorie  all  grouped  around  a  step- 
ladder  on  top  of  which  is  balanced  a  pallid 
youth  with  long  black  hair  and  a  fair  white  brow 
projectin'  out  like  a  double  dormer  on  a  cement 
bungalow.  He  seems  to  be  tryin'  to  drape  a  fish 
net  across  the  top  of  an  alcove  accordin'  to 


190          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

three  different  sets  of  directions;  but  leaves  off 
abrupt  when  I  blows  in. 

You'd  hardly  guess  I'd  been  sent  for,  either. 
"Humph!"  remarks  Aunty,  after  I've  an- 
nounced how  sorry  Mr.  Robert  was  he  couldn't 
come  himself  and  that  he 's  detailed  me  instead. 
"How  perfectly  absurd!" 

"But,  Aunty,"  protests  Vee,  "you  know 
Torchy  is  a  private  secretary  now  and  under- 
stands all  about  such  things.  Besides,  he  knows 
such  heaps  of  important  business  men  who " 

"If  he  can  bring  them  here  Wednesday  after- 
noon, very  well,"  says  Aunty;  "but  I  have  iny 
doubts  that  he  can." 

"What's  the  game!"  says  I. 

"It  is  not  a  game  at  all,  young  man,"  says 
Aunty.  ' '  Our  project,  if  that  is  what  you  mean, 
is  to  have  a  studio  tea  for  Mr.  Djickyns  and 
to  secure  the  attendance  of  as  many  purchasers 
for  his  works  as  possible.  Have  you  any  sug- 
gestions?" 

"Why,"  says  I,  "not  right  off  the  bat. 
Maybe  if  I  could  chew  over  the  proposition 
awhile,  I  might " 

"Oh,  I  say,"  breaks  in  the  noble  young  gent 
on  the  stepladder,  "I — I'm  getting  dizzy  up 
here,  you  know.  I — I'm  feeling  rather 

"Mercy!"  squeals  Marjorie.  "He's  faint- 
ing!" 

"Steady  there!"  I  sings  out  to  Djickyns, 


I  GATHERS  HIM  IN  ON  THE  FLY. 


Page  19*- 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        191 

makin'  a  jump.  "Don't  wabble  until  I  get  you. 
Easy!" 

I  ain't  a  second  too  soon,  either;  for  as  I 
reaches  up  he  topples  toward  me,  as  limp  as  a 
sack  of  flour.  I  was  fieldin'  my  position  well 
for  an  amateur ;  for  I  gathers  him  in  on  the  fly, 
slides  him  down  head  first  with  only  a  bump 
or  two,  and  stretches  him  out  on  the  rug.  It's 
only  a  near-faint,  though,  and  after  a  drink  of 
water  and  a  sniff  at  Aunty's  smellin'  salts  he's 
able  to  be  helped  onto  a  couch  and  propped  up 
with  cushions. 

"Awfully  sorry,"  says  he,  smilin'  mushy, 
"but  I  fear  I  can't  go  on  with  the  decorating 
to-day." 

"Never  mind,"  says  Aunty,  comfortin'. 
"This  young  man  will  help  us." 

"Please  do,  Torchy,"  adds  Marjorie. 

"You  will,  won't  you?"  says  Vee,  shootin' 
over  a  glance  from  them  gray  eyes  that  makes 
me  feel  all  rosy  and  tingly. 

"That's  my  job  in  life,"  says  I,  pickin'  up 
the  fish  net.  * '  Now  how  does  this  go  1 " 

And  for  the  next  hour  or  so,  when  I  wa'n't 
clingin'  to  the  ceilin'  with  my  eyelids,  tackin' 
things  up,  I  was  down  on  all-fours  arrangin' 
rugs,  or  executin'  other  merry  little  stunts. 
Aunty  had  collected  a  whole  truckload  of  fancy 
junk, — wall  tapestries,  old  armor,  Russian  tea 
machines,  and  such, — with  the  idea  of  trans- 


192          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

formin'  this  half -bare  loft  of  Djickyns's  into  a 
swell  studio.  And,  believe  me,  we  came  mighty 
near  turnin'  the  trick! 

"There!"  says  she.  "With  a  few  flowers 
I  believe  it  will  do.  Now,  young  man,  have  you 
thought  how  we  can  get  the  right  people  here? 
Of  course  we  shall  advertise  in  all  the  papers." 

"As  an  open  show?"  says  I.  "Say,  that's 
nutty!  Don't  you  do  it.  You'd  only  get  in  a 
bunch  of  suburban  shoppers  and  cheap-skate  art 
students.  My  tip  is,  make  it  exclusive, — admis- 
sion by  card  only.  Then  if  it's  done  right  you 
can  graft  a  lot  of  free  press  agent  stuff  by 
playin'  up  the  Belgian  part  of  it  strong.  See? 
Lets  you  ring  in  on  this  fund  for  Belgian  suf- 
ferers. I  take  it  you  want  to  unload  as  much 
of  this  plaster  junk  as  you  can?  Well,  all  you 
got  to  do  is  mark  it  up  twenty  per  cent,  and 
announce  that  you  '11  chip  in  that  much  towards 
the  fund.  Get  me?" 

She  never  bats  an  eye,  Aunty  don't.  "To  be 
sure,"  says  she.  "  I  think  that  is  precisely 
what  we  had  in  mind  all  the  time;  only  we — 
er " 

1 1 1  know, ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  hadn  't  be  en  playin ' 
the  relief  act  strong  enough.  But  that's  what '11 
get  you  into  the  headlines.  'Social  Leader  to 
the  Rescue,' — all  that  dope.  I'll  send  some  of 
the  boys  up  to  see  you  to-night.  Don 't  let  your 
butler  frost  'em,  though.  Give  'em  a  clear 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        193 

track  to  the  lib'ry,  and  if  you're  servin'  after- 
dinner  coffee  and  frosted  green  cordials,  so 
much  the  better.  Reporters  are  almost  human, 
you  know.  It  would  help  too  if  you'd  happen 
to  be  just  startin'  for  the  op'ra,  with  all  your 
pearl  ropes  on.  And  whisper, — soft  pedal  on 
Djickyns  here,  but  heavy  on  his  suff  rrin'  coun- 
trymen! That's  the  line." 

Aunty  shudders  a  couple  of  times,  and  once 
she  starts  to  crash  in  with  the  sharp  reproof; 
but  she  swallows  it.  Some  little  old  diplomat, 
Aunty  is !  She  was  gettin'  the  picture.  Havin' 
planned  that  part  of  the  campaign,  she  switches 
the  debate  as  to  who  should  go  on  the  list  of 
invited  guests. 

" Leave  it  to  me,"  says  I.  ''You  just  pick 
out  about  a  dozen  patronesses.  Pick  'em  from 
the  top,  the  ones  that  are  featured  oftenest  in 
the  society  notes.  And  me,  I'll  sift  out  a  couple 
of  hundred  sound  propositions  from  the  cor- 
poration lists, — parties  that  have  stayed  on  the 
right  side  of  the  market  and  still  have  cash  to 
spend." 

Aunty  nods  approvin '.  She  even  hands  over 
some  names  she'd  jotted  down  herself  and  asks 
me  to  put  'em  in  if  they're  all  right. 

"Most  of  'em  are  fine,"  says  I,  glancin'  over 
the  slip;  "but  who's  this  W.  T.  Wiggins  with 
no  address?" 

"I  particularly  want  to  reach  him,"  says  she. 


194          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"He  is  a  wealthy  merchant  who  is  apt  to  be 
rather  generous,  I  am  told,  if  properly  ap- 
proached. " 

"I'll  look  him  up,"  says  I,  "and  see  that  he 
gets  an  invite — registered. ' ' 

"Of  course,"  goes  on  Aunty,  "he  doesn't  be- 
long socially,  you  understand;  but  in  this  in- 
stance  " 

"Uh-huh!"  says  I.  "You'll  be  pleased  to 
meet  his  checkbook.  And,  by  the  way,  what 
schedule  are  you  runnin'  this  on, — doors  open 
at  when?" 

"The  cards  will  read,  'From  half  after  four 
until  seven,'  "  says  Aunty. 

"I  see,"  says  I.  "Then  if  I  drift  in  before 
six  a  frock  coat  will  pass  me." 

And  for  the  first  time  durin'  the  session  she 
inspects  me  insultin'  through  her  lorgnette. 
"Really,"  says  she,  "I  had  not  considered  that 
it  would  be  necessary " 

"  Eh  V '  I  gasps.  '  *  Ah,  have  a  heart !  Think 
how  handy  I'd  be  if  someone  did  another  flop,  or 
if  Miss  Vee  wanted " 

"Verona  will  be  fully  occupied  in  serving 
tea,"  breaks  in  Aunty.  "Besides,  we  shall  try 
to  give  this  affair  the  appearance,  at  least,  of 
a  genuine  social  function.  I  imagine  that  the 
presence  of  such  persons  as  Mr.  "Wiggins  will 
make  the  task  sufficiently  difficult.  Don't  you 
see?" 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        195 

"I  ought  to,"  says  I.  "You  ain't  left  much 
to  the  imagination.  Sort  of  a  blot  on  the  land- 
scape I'd  be,  would  I?" 

Aunty  shrugs  her  shoulders.  "Please  re- 
member," says  she,  "that  I  am  not  making- 
social  distinctions.  I  merely  recognize  those 
which  exist.  You  must  not  hold  me  responsible 
for " 

"Oh,  Aunty,"  breaks  in  Vee,  trippin'  into  our 
corner  impulsive,  "we've  forgotten  the  tea 
things.  I  must  go  out  and  find  a  store  and  get 
them  at  once.  Mayn't  Torchy  come  to  carry 
the  bundles?" 

"Yes,"  says  Aunty;  "but  I  think  I  will  go 
also,  to  be  sure  you  order  the  right  things." 

Think  of  carryin'  round  a  disposition  like 
that !  She  trails  right  along  with  us  too,  and 
just  to  make  the  trip  int'restin'  for  her  I  strikes 
for  Eighth-ave.  through  one  of  them  messy 
cross  streets  where  last  week's  snow  piles  and 
garbage  cans  was  mixed  careless  along  the 
curb. 

"What  a  wretched  district!"  complains 
Aunty. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  to  get  to  the  nearest 
grocery,"  says  I.  "Hello!  Here's  one  of  the 
Wiggins  chain.  How  about  patronizin '  this  ? ' ' 

It's  one  of  them  cheap,  cut-rate  joints,  you 
know,  with  the  windows  plastered  all  over  with 
daily  bargain  hints, — "Three  pounds  of  Wig- 


196          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

gins 's  best  creamery  butter  for  97  cents — to-day 
only, "  "  Canned  corn,  6  cents — our  big  Monday 
special,"  and  so  on.  Aunty  sniffs  a  bit,  but 
fin'lly  decides  to  take  a  chance  and  sails  in  in 
all  her  grandeur.  The  one  visible  clerk  was 
busy  waitin'  on  lady  customers,  one  with  a 
shawl  over  her  head  and  the  other  luggin'  a 
baby  on  her  hip.  So  Aunty  raps  impatient  on 
the  counter. 

At  that  out  from  behind  a  stack  of  Wiggins 's 
breakfast  food  boxes  appears  a  middle-aged 
gent  strugglin'  into  a  blue  jumper  three  sizes 
too  small  for  him.  He 's  kind  of  heavy  built  and 
slow  movin'  for  an  average  grocery  clerk,  and 
he's  wearin'  gold-rimmed  specs;  but  when 
Aunty,  proceeds  to  cross-examine  him  about  his 
stock  of  tea  he  sure  showed  he  was  onto  his 
job.  He  seems  to  know  about  every  kind  of 
tea  ever  grown,  and  produces  samples  of  the 
best  he  has  in  the  shop. 

Aunty  was  watchin'  him  casual  as  he  weighs 
out  a  couple  of  pounds,  when  all  of  a  sudden  she 
unlimbers  her  long-handled  glasses  and  takes 
a  closer  look.  "My  good  man,"  says  she, 
"haven't  I  seen  you  somewhere  before?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  he,  scoopin'  a  pinch  off  the 
scales  so  they'd  register  exactly  to  the  quarter 
ounce. 

"In  some  other  store,  perhaps?"  says  she. 

"I  think  not,"  says  he. 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        197 

''Then  where?"  asks  Aunty. 

"Cooperstown,"  says  he,  reachin'  for  a  paper 
bag  and  shootin'  the  tea  in  skillful.  "  Anything 
more,  Madam?" 

"Cooperstown!"  echoes  Aunty.  "Why,  I 
haven 't  been  there  since  I  was  a  girl. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  know,"  says  he.  "You  didn't  even 
finish  at  high  school.  Cut  sugar,  did  you  say, 
Madam?" 

'  'A  box, ' '  says  Aunty,  starin '  puzzled.  ' ' Per- 
haps you  attended  the  same  school?" 

He  nods. 

"Oh,  I  seem  to  remember  now,"  says  she. 

"Aren't  you  the  one  they  called — er What 

was  it  you  were  called?" 

"Woodie,"  says  he.  "Will  you  have  lemons 
too  ?  Fresh  Floridas. ' ' 

"Two  dozen,"  says  Aunty.  "Well,  well! 
You  used  to  ask  me  to  skate  with  you  on  the 
lake,  didn't  you?" 

"When  my  courage  was  running  high,"  says 
he.  ' '  Sometimes  you  would ;  but  more  often  you 
wouldn't.  I  lived  at  the  wrong  end  of  town, 
you  know." 

"In  the  Hollow,  wasn't  it?"  says  she.  "And 
there  was  something  queer  about — about  your 
family,  wasn't  there?" 

He  looks  her  straight  in  the  eye  at  that, 
Woodie  does.  "Yes,"  says  he.  "Mother  went 
out  sewing.  She  was  a  widow. ' ' 


198          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Oh!"  says  Aunty.  "I  recall  your  skates — 
those  funny  old  wooden-topped  ones,  weren't 
they?" 

'  *  I  was  lucky  to  have  those, ' '  says  he. 

' ' Hm-m-m ! "  muses  Aunty.  "But  you  could 
skate  very  well.  You  taught  me  the  Dutch  roll. 
I  remember  now.  Then  there  was  the  night  we 
had  the  big  bonfire  on  the  ice. ' ' 

Woodie  lets  on  not  to  hear  this  last,  but  grabs 
a  sales  slip  and  gets  busy  jottin'  down  items. 

I  nudges  Vee,  and  she  smothers  a  snicker. 
We  was  enjoyin'  this  little  peek  into  their  past. 
Could  you  have  guessed  it?  Aunty!  She  or- 
ders six  loaves  of  sandwich  bread  and  asks  to 
see  the  canned  caviar. 

"You've  never  found  anything  better  to  do," 
she  goes  on,  * '  than — than  this ? ' ' 

"No,"  says  Woodie,  on  his  way  down  from 
the  top  shelf. 

Once  more  Aunty  levels  her  lorgnette  and 
gives  him  the  cold,  curious  look  over. 
"Hm-m-mff!"  says  she  through  her  aristo- 
cratic nose.  ' '  I  must  say  that  as  a  boy  you  were 
presuming  enough." 

' '  I  got  over  that, ' '  says  he. 

"Sol  should  hope, ' '  says  she.  ' '  You  manage 
to  make  a  living  at  this  sort  of  thing,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  In  a  way, ' '  says  he. 

"You've  no  family,  I  trust?"  says  Aunty. 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        199 

''There  are  six  of  us  all  told,"  admits 
Woodie  humble. 

"Good  heavens!"  she  gasps.  "But  I  pre- 
sume some  of  them  are  able  to  help  you?" 

"  A  little,"  says  Woodie. 

* '  Think  of  it ! "  says  Aunty.  "  Six !  And  on 
such  wages !  Are  any  of  them  girls  ? ' ' 

1 '  Two, ' '  says  he. 

"I  must  send  you  some  of  my  niece's  dis- 
carded gowns,"  says  Aunty  impulsive.  "You 
are  not  a  drinking  man,  are  you  ? ' ' 

"Not  to  excess,  Madam,"  says  Woodie. 

"How  you  can  afford  to  drink  at  all  is  beyond 
me,"  says  she.  "Or  even  eat!  Yet  you 
are  rather  stout.  I've  no  doubt,  though, 
that  plain  food  is  best.  But  you  show  your 
age." 

"I  know,"  says  he,  smoothin'  one  hand  over 
his  bald  spot.  "Anything  edse  to-day?" 

There's  just  a  hint  of  an  amused  flicker  be- 
hind the  glasses  that  makes  Aunty  glare  at  him 
suspicious  for  a  second.  '  *  No, ' '  says  she.  ' '  Put 
all  those  things  in  two  stout  bags  and  tie  them 
carefully. ' ' 

"Yes,  Madam,"  says  Woodie. 

He  was  doin'  it  too,  when  the  other  clerk  steps 
up,  salutes  him  polite,  and  says:  "You're 
wanted  at  the  telephone,  Sir." 

"Tell  them  to  hold  the  wire,"  says  Woodie. 

We  was  still  tryin'  to  doDe  that  out  when  a 


200          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

big  limousine  rolls  up  in  front  of  the  store,  out 
hops  a  footman  in  livery,  walks  in  to  Woodie 
with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  and  holds  out  a  bunch 
of  telegrams. 

"From  the  office,  Sir,"  says  he. 

"Wait,"  says  Woodie,  wavin'  him  one  side. 

Now  was  them  any  proper  motions  for  a 
grocery  clerk  to  be  goin'  through?  I  leave  it 
to  you.  Vee  is  watchin'  with  her  nose  wrinkled 
up,  like  she  always  does  when  anything  stumps 
her ;  and  me,  I  was  just  starin '  open-faced  and 
foolish.  I  couldn't  get  the  connection  at  all. 
But  Aunty  ain't  one  to  stand  gaspin'  over  a 
mystery  while  her  tongue's  still  workin'. 

"Whose  car  is  that?"  she  demands. 

Woodie  slips  the  string  from  between  his 
front  teeth,  puts  a  double  knot  scientific  on  the 
end  of  the  package,  and  peers  over  his  glasses 
out  through  the  door.  ' '  That  ? ' '  says  he.  « '  Oh, 
that's  mine." 

"Yours!"  comes  back  Aunty.  "And — and 
this  store  too?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  he. 

"Then — then  your  name  is  Wiggins?"  she 
goes  on. 

"Yes,"  says  he.  "Don't  you  remember, — 
Woodie  Wiggins?" 

"I'd  forgotten,"  says  Aunty.  "And  all  the 
other  stores  like  this — how  many  of  them  have 
you?" 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        201* 

"Something  less  than  a  hundred,"  says  he. 
' '  Ninety-six  or  seven,  I  think. ' ' 

Most  got  Aunty's  breath,  that  did;  but  in  a 
jiffy  she's  recovered.  "Perhaps,"  says  she, 
"you  don't  mind  telling  me  the  reason  for  this 
masquerade!" 

"It's  not  quite  that,"  says  Wiggins.  "I  try 
to  keep  in  touch  with  all  my  places.  In  making 
my  rounds  to-day  I  found  my  local  manager 
here  too  ill  to  be  at  work.  Bad  case  of  grip. 
So  I  sent  him  home,  telephoned  for  a  substitute, 
and  while  waiting  took  off  my  coat  and  filled 
in.  Fortunate  coincidence,  wasn't  it? — for  it 
gave  me  the  pleasure  of  serving  you. ' ' 

"You  mean,"  cuts  in  Aunty,  "that  it  gave 
you  the  opportunity  of  making  me  appear  ab- 
surd. Those  gowns  I  promised  to  send!" 

Wiggins  grins  good  natured.  "Is  this  the 
niece  you  mentioned  1 ' '  says  he. 

Aunty  admits  that  it  is,  and  introduces  Vee. 

Then  Wiggins  looks  inquirin'  at  me.  "  Your 
son?"  he  asks. 

And  you  should  have  seen  Aunty's  face  pink 
up  at  that.  ' '  Certainly  not ! ' '  says  she. 

"Oh!"  says  Woodie,  screwin'  up  one  corner 
of  his  mouth  and  tippin'  me  the  wink. 

I  knew  if  I  got  a  look  at  Vee  I'd  have  to 
haw-haw;  so  I  backs  around  with  one  hand  be- 
hind me  and  we  swaps  a  finger  squeeze. 

Then  Aunty  jumps  in  with  the  quick  shift. 


' 


202  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

She  asks  him  patronizin'  if  he  finds  the  grocery 
business  int'restin'.  He  admits  that  he  does. 

"How  odd!"  says  Aunty.  "But  I  presume 
that  you  hope  to  retire  very  soon?" 

"Eh?"  says  he.  "Quit  the  one  thing  I  can 
do  best?  Why?" 

"But  surely,"  she  goes  on,  "you  can  hardly 
find  such  a  business  congenial.  It  is  so — so — 
well,  so  petty  and  sordid?" 

"Is  it,  though?"  says  Wiggins.  "With  more 
than  five  thousand  employees  on  my  payroll 
and  a  daily  expense  bill  running  well  over  thirty 
thousand,  I  find  it  far  from  petty.  Anyway,  it 
keeps  me  hustling.  I  used  to  think  I  was  a  hard 
worker  too,  when  I  had  my  one  little  general 
store  at  Smiths  Corners." 

"And  now  you've  nearly  a  hundred  stores!" 
says  Aunty.  "How  did  you  do  it?" 

"I  was  kicked  into  doing  it,  I  guess,"  says 
Wiggins,  smilin'  grim.  "The  manufacturers 
and  jobbers,  you  know.  They  weren't  willing 
to  allow  me  a  fair  profit.  So  I  had  to  go  under 
or  spread  out.  Well,  I've  spread, — flour  mills 
in  Minnesota,  canning  factories  from  Portland, 
Oregon,  to  Bridgeton,  Maine,  potato  farms  in 
Michigan  and  the  Aroostook,  cracker  and  bread 
bakeries,  creameries,  raisin  and  prune  planta- 
tions,— all  that  sort  of  thing, — until  gradually 
I've  weeded  out  most  of  the  greedy  middlemen 
who  stood  between  me  and  my  customers. 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        203 

They're  poor  folks,  most  of  'em,  and  when  they 
trade  with  me  their  slim  wages  go  further  than 
in  most  stores.  My  ambition  is  to  give  them 
honest  goods  at  a  five  per  cent,  profit. 

"If  they  all  knew  what  was  best  for  them, 
the  WTiggins  stores  would  soon  become  a  na- 
tional institution,  and  I  could  hand  it  over  to 
the  federal  government;  but  they  don't.  If 
they  did,  I  suppose  they  wouldn't  be  working 
for  wages.  So  my  chain  grows  slowly,  at  the 
rate  of  two  or  three  stores  a  year.  But  every 
Wiggins  store  is  a  center  for  economic  and 
scientific  distribution  of  pure  food  products. 
That's  my  job,  and  I  find  it  neither  petty  nor 
sordid.  I  can  even  get  a  certain  satisfaction 
and  pride  from  it.  Incidentally  there  is  my 
five  per  cent,  profit  to  be  made,  which  makes 
the  game  fascinating.  Retire!  Not  until  I've 
found  something  better  to  do,  and  up  to  date 
I  haven 't. ' ' 

Havin'  got  this  off  his  mind  and  the  parcels 
done  up,  Mr.  Wiggins  walks  back  to  answer  the 
'phone. 

When  he  comes  out  again,  in  a  minute  or  so, 
he's  shucked  the  jumper  and  is  buttonin'  him- 
self into  a  mink-lined  overcoat. 

"As  a  rule,"  says  he,  "we  do  not  deliver 
goods ;  but  in  this  instance  I  beg  leave  to  make 
an  exception.  Permit  me,"  and  he  waves  to- 
ward the  limousine. 


204          TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

It's  the  first  time  too  that  I  ever  saw  Aunty 
stunned  for  more  than  a  second  or  two  at  a 
stretch.  She  acts  sort  of  dazed  as  he  leads  her 
out  to  the  car  and  helps  stow  Vee  and  me  and 
the  bundles  before  gettin'  in  himself.  Only 
when  we  pulls  up  in  front  of  the  studio  buildin' 
does  she  come  to.  She  revives  enough  to  tell 
Wiggins  all  about  this  noble  young  Belgian 
sculptor  and  his  wonderful  work. 

"Sculpture!"  says  Wiggins.  "I'd  like  to 
see  it."  . 

And  inside  of  three  minutes  Woodruff  T. 
Wiggins,  the  chain  grocery  magnate,  is  right 
where  we'd  been  schemin'  to  get  him.  He  in- 
spects the  various  groups  of  plaster  stuff 
ranged  around  the  studio,  squintin '  at  'em  criti- 
cal like  he  was  a  judge  of  such  junk,  and  now 
and  then  he  makes  notes  on  the  back  of  an 
envelope. 

Meanwhile  Aunty  explains  all  about  the  tea, 
namin'  over  some  of  the  swell  dowagers  that 
was  goin'  to  act  as  patronesses,  and  invites  him 
cordial  to  drop  around  on  the  big  day. 

"Thanks,"  says  he;  "but  I  guess  I'd  better 
not.  I'm  still  from  the  wrong  end  of  the  town, 
you  know.  But  here's  a  memorandum  of  four 
pieces  I  should  like  done  in  bronze  for  my  coun- 
try house.  And  suppose  I  leave  Mr.  Djickyns 
a  check  for  five  thousand  on  account.  Will  that 
do?" 


TEAMWORK  WITH  AUNTY        205 

Would  it?  Say,  Aunty  almost  pats  him  fond 
on  the  cheek  as  she  follows  him  to  the  door. 

Must  have  been  something  romantic  about 
that  bonfire  episode  back  in  Cooperstown  too; 
for  she  mellows  up  a  lot  durin'  the  next  few 
minutes,  and  when  I  fin'lly  calls  a  taxi  and  tucks 
'em  all  in  she  comes  near  beamin'  on  me. 

"  Remember,  young  man,"  says  she, 
''promptly  at  five  on  Wednesday." 

"Wha-a-at?"saysl. 

"And  be  sure  to  wear  your  best  frock-coat," 
she  adds  as  a  partin'  shot. 

Do  you  wonder  I  stands  gaspin'  on  the  curb 
until  after  they've  turned  the  corner?  Think 
of  that  from  Aunty ! 

"Well?"  says  Mr.  Robert,  as  I  blows  in  about 
quittin'  time.  "Any  new  quotations  in  sculp- 
ture?" 

"If  you  think  that's  a  merry  jest,"  says  I, 
"call  up  Aunty.  Why,  say,  before  we  get 
through  with  this  tea  stunt  of  hers  that  Djickyns 
party  will  be  runnin'  his  studio  works  day  and 
night  shifts  and  rebuildin'  Belgium!  We're  a 
great  team,  me  and  dear  old  Aunty.  We've  just 
found  it  out" 


CHAPTEE  XII 

ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE 

AND  first  off  I  had  him  listed  in  the  joke  col- 
umn. Think  of  that!  But  when  I  caught  my 
first  glimpse  of  him,  there  in  the  Corrugated 
gen'ral  offices  that  mornin',  there  was  more  or 
less  comedy  idea  to  his  get-up ;  the  high-sided, 
flat-topped  derby,  for  instance.  Once  in  a  while 
you  run  across  an  old  sport  who  still  sticks  to 
that  type  of  hard-boiled  lid.  Gen 'rally  they're 
short-stemmed  old  ginks  who  seem  to  think  the 
high  crown  makes  'em  loom  up  taller.  Maybe 
so;  but  where  they  find  back-number  hats  like 
that  is  beyond  me. 

Then  there  was  the  buff-cochin  spats  and  the 
wide  ribbon  to  his  eyeglasses.  Beyond  that  I 
don't  know  as  there  was  anything  real  freaky 
about  him.  A  rich-colored  old  gent  he  is,  the 
pink  in  his  cheeks  shadin'  off  into  a  deep  mahog- 
any tint  back  of  his  ears,  makin'  his  frosted  hair 
and  mustache  stand  out  some  prominent. 

He'd  been  shown  into  the  private  office  on  a 
call  for  Mr.  Robert;  but  as  I  was  well  heeled 
with  work  of  my  own  I  didn't  even  glance  up 

206 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE     207 

from  the  desk  until  I  hears  this  scrappy  openin' 
of  his. 

"Bob  Ellins,  you  young  scoundrel,  what  the 
blighted  beatitudes  does  this  mean?"  he  de- 
mands. 

Naturally  that  gets  me  stretchin'  my  neck, 
and  I  turns  just  in  time  to  watch  the  gaspy 
expression  on  Mr.  Robert's  face  fade  out  and 
turn  into  a  chuckle. 

"Why,  Mr.  Ballard!"  says  he,  extendin'  the 
cordial  palm.  "I  had.no  idea  you  were  on  this 
side.  Really!  I  understood,  you  know,  that 
you  were  settled  over  there  for  good,  and 
that " 

1  *  So  you  take  advantage  of  the  fact,  do  you, 
to  make  me  president  of  one  of  your  fool  com- 
panies I ' '  says  Ballard.  * '  My  imbecile  attorney 
just  let  it  leak  out.  What  do  you  mean, 
eh?" 

Mr.  Robert  pushes  him  into  a  chair  and 
shrugs  his  shoulders.  '  *  It  was  rather  a  liberty, 
I  admit,"  says  he;  "one  of  the  exigencies  of 
business,  however.  When  a  meddlesome  ad- 
ministration insists  on  dissolving  into  its  com- 
ponent parts  such  an  extensive  organization  as 
ours — well,  we  had  to  have  a  lot  of  presidents 
in  a  hurry.  Really,  we  didn't  think  you'd  mind, 
Mr.  Ballard,  and  we  had  no  intention  of  both- 
ering you  with  the  details." 

"Huh!"  snorts  Mr.  Ballard.    "And  what  is 


208          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

this  precious  corporation  of  which  I'm  supposed 
to  be  the  head?" 

"Why,  Mutual  Funding,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"Funding,  eh?"  comes  back  Ballard  snappy. 
"What  tommyrot!  Bob  Ellins,  you  ought  to 
know  that  I  haven't  the  vaguest  notion  as  to 
what  funding  is, — never  did, — and  at  my  time 
of  life,  Sir,  I  don't  propose  to  learn!" 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  says  Mr.  Robert, 
soothin'.  "Quite  unnecessary  too.  You  are 
adequately  and  efficiently  represented,  Mr.  Bal- 
lard, by  a  private  secretary  who  has  mastered 
the  art  of  funding,  mutual  and  otherwise,  until 
he  can  do  it  backward  with  one  hand  tied  be- 
hind him.  Torchy,  will  you  step  here  a  mo- 
ment ? ' ' 

I  was  comin'  too;  but  Mr.  Ballard  waves  me 
off. 

"Stop!"  says  he.  "I'll  not  listen  to  a  word 
of  it.  I'd  have  you  know,  Bob  Ellins,  that  I 
have  worried  along  for  sixty-two  years  without 
having  been  criminally  implicated  in  business 
affairs.  The  worst  I've  done  has  been  to  pose 
as  a  dummy  director  on  your  rascally  board  and 
to  see  that  my  letter  of  credit  was  renewed  every 
three  months.  Use  my  name  if  you  must;  but 
allow  me  to  keep  a  clear  conscience.  I'm  going 
in  now  for  a  chat  with  your  father,  Bob,  and  if 
he  mentions  funding  I  shall  stuff  my  fingers  in 
my  ears  and  run.  He  won 't,  though.  Old  Hick- 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE     209 

ory  knows  me  better.  This  his  door  I  All  right. 
Thanks.  Hah,  you  old  freebooter !  In  your  den, 
are  you?  Well,  well!" 

At  which  he  stalks  into  the  other  office  and 
leaves  Mr.  Robert  and  me  grinnin'  at  each 
other. 

' '  Listened  like  you  was  in  Dutch  for  a  minute 
or  so  there,"  says  I.  "Case  of  the  cat  comin' 
back,  eh?" 

"From  Kyrle  Ballard,"  says  he,  "one  ex- 
pects the  unexpected.  Only  we  need  not  worry 
about  his  wanting  to  become  the  acting  head 
of  your  department.  To-morrow  or  next  week 
he  is  quite  likely  to  be  off  again,  bound  for  some 
remote  corner  of  the  earth,  to  hobnob  with  the 
native  rulers  thereof,  participate  in  their  games 
of  chance,  and  invent  a  new  punch  especially 
suitable  for  that  particular  climate. ' ' 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "That's  my  idea  of  a  per- 
fectly good  boss, — one  that  gives  his  job  absent 
treatment. ' ' 

I  thought  too  that  Mr.  Robert  had  doped  out 
his  motions  correct ;  for  a  week  goes  by  and  no 
Mr.  Ballard  shows  up  to  take  the  rubber  stamp 
away  from  me,  or  even  ask  fool  questions.  I 
was  hopin'  too  that  Ballard  had  gone  a  long 
ways  from  here,  accordin '  to  custom.  Then  one 
night — well,  it  was  at  the  theater,  one  of  them 
highbrow  Shaw  plays  that  I  was  chucklin' 
through  with  Aunt  Zenobia. 


210  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Eh?  Remember  her,  don't  you?  "Why,  she's 
one  of  the  pair  of  aunts  that  I  got  half  adopted 
by,  'way  back  when  I  first  started  in  with  the 
Corrugated.  Yep,  I've  been  stayin'  on  with 
'em.  Why  not!  Course  our  little  side  street 
is  'way  down  in  an  old-fashioned  part  of  the 
town ;  the  upper  edge  of  old  Greenwich  village, 
in  fact,  if  you  know  where  that  is. 

The  house  is  one  of  a  row  that  sports  about 
the  only  survivin'  specimens  of  the  cast-iron 
grapevine  school  of  architecture.  Honest,  we 
got  a  double-decked  veranda  built  of  foundry 
work  that  was  meant  to  look  like  leaves  and 
vines,  I  expect.  Cute  idea,  eh?  Bein'  all 
painted  brick  red,  though,  it  ain't  so  convincing 
but  stragglin'  over  ours  is  a  wistaria  that  has 
a  few  sickly-lookin '  blossoms  on  it  every  spring 
and  manages  to  carry  a  sprinklin'  of  dusty 
leaves  through  the  summer.  Also  there's  a 
nine-by-twelve  lawn,  that  costs  a  dollar  a  square 
foot  to  keep  in  shape,  I'll  bet. 

From  that  description  maybe  you'd  judge 
that  the  place  where  I  hang  out  is  a  little  an- 
tique. It  is.  But  inside  it's  mighty  comf 'table, 
and  it's  the  best  imitation  of  a  home  I've  ever 
carried  a  latch-key  to.  As  for  the  near-aunts, 
Zenobia  and  Martha,  take  it  from  me  they're  the 
real  things  in  that  line,  even  if  they  did  let  me 
in  off  the  street  without  askin'  who  or  what! 
The  best  of  it  is  they  never  have  asked",  which 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE     211 

makes  it  convenient.  I  couldn't  tell  'em  much, 
if  they  did. 

There's  Martha — well,  she's  the  pious  one. 
It  ain't  any  case  of  sudden  spasms  with  her. 
It's  a  settled  habit.  She's  just  as  pious  Mon- 
day mornin'  as  she  is  Sunday  afternoon,  and  it 
lasts  her  all  through  the  week.  You  know  how 
she  started  in  by  readin'  them  Delilah  and  Jona 
yarns  to  me.  She's  kept  it  up.  About  twice  a 
week  she  corners  me  and  pumps  in  a  slice  of 
Scripture  readin',  until  I  guess  we  must  be 
more'n  half  through  the  Book.  Course  there's 
a  lot  of  it  I  don't  see  any  percentage  in  at  all; 
but  I've  got  so  I  don't  mind  it,  and  it  seems 
to  give  Aunt  Martha  a  lot  of  satisfaction.  She 's 
a  lumpy,  heavy-set  old  girl,  Martha,  and  a  little 
slow ;  but  the  only  thing  that  ain  't  genuine  about 
her  is  the  yellowish  white  frontispiece  she  pins 
on  over  her  own  hair  when  she  dolls  up  for 
dinner. 

But  Zenobia — say,  she's  a  diff 'rent  party !  A 
few  years  younger  than  Martha,  Zenobia  is, — 
in  the  early  sixties,  I  should  say, — and  she's 
just  as  active  and  up  to  date  and  foxy  as  Martha 
is  logy  and  antique  and  dull.  While  Martha  is 
sayin'  grace  Zenobia  is  gen 'rally  pourin'  her- 
self out  a  glass  of  port. 

About  once  a  week  Martha  loads  herself  into 
an  old  horse  cab  and  goes  off  to  a  meetin'  of 
the  foreign  mission  society,  or  something 


212  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

like  that;  but  almost  every  afternoon  Zenobia 
goes  whizzin'  off  in  a  taxi,  maybe  to  hear  some 
long-haired  violinist,  maybe  to  sit  on  the  plat- 
form with  Emma  Goldman  and  Bouck  White 
and  applaud  enthusiastic  when  the  established 
order  gets  another  jolt.  Just  as  likely  as  not 
too,  she'll  bring  some  of  'em  home  to  dinner 
with  her. 

Zenobia  never  shoves  any  advice  on  me,  good 
or  otherwise,  and  never  asks  nosey  questions; 
but  she's  the  one  who  sees  that  my  socks  are 
kept  mended  and  has  my  suits  sent  to  the 
presser.  She  don't  read  things  to  me,  or  ex- 
pound any  of  her  fads.  She  just  talks  to  me 
like  she  does  to  anyone  else — minor  poets  or 
social  reformers — about  anything  she  happens 
to  be  int 'rested  in  at  the  time, — music,  plays, 
Mother  Jones,  the  war,  or  how  suffrage  is 
comin'  on, — and  never  seems  to  notice  when  I 
make  breaks  or  get  over  my  head. 

A  good  sport  Zenobia  is,  and  so  busy  sizin' 
up  to-day  that  she  ain't  got  time  for  reminiscin' 
about  the  days  before  Brooklyn  Bridge  was 
built.  And  the  most  chronic  kidder  you  ever 
saw.  Say,  what  we  don't  do  to  Aunt  Martha 
when  both  of  us  gets  her  on  a  string  is  a  caution ! 
That's  what  makes  so  many  of  our  meals  such 
cheerful  events. 

You  might  think,  from  a  casual  glance  at 
Zenobia,  with  her  gray  hair  and  the  lines  around 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE      213 

her  eyes,  that  she'd  be  kind  of  slow  comp'ny 
for  me,  especially  to  chase  around  to  plays  with 
and  so  on.  But,  believe  me,  there's  nothin'  dull 
about  her,  and  when  she  suggests  that  she 's  got 
an  extra  ticket  to  anything  I  don't  stop  to  ask 
what  it  is,  but  just  gets  into  the  proper  evenin' 
uniform  and  trots  along  willin'! 

So  that 's  how  I  happens  to  be  with  her  at  this 
Shaw  play,  and  discussin'  between  the  acts  what 
Barney  was  really  tryin'  to  put  over  on  us. 
The  first  intermission  was  most  over  too  before 
I  discovers  this  ruddy-faced  old  party  in  the 
back  of  Box  A  with  his  opera  glasses  trained 
steady  in  our  direction.  I  glances  along  the 
row  to  see  if  anyone's  gazin'  back;  but  I 
can't  spot  a  soul  lookin'  his  way.  After 
he's  kept  it  up  a  minute  or  two  I  nudges  Aunt 
Zenobia. 

"  Looks  like  we  was  bein'  inspected  from  the 
box  seats,"  says  I. 

* '  How  flatterin ' ! "  says  she.    ' « Where  f ' ' 

I  points  him  out.  ''Must  be  you,"  says  I, 
grinnin '. 

"I  hope  so,"  says  Zenobia.  "If  I'm  really 
i  being  flirted  with,  I  shall  boast  of  it  to  Sister 
Martha." 

But  just  then  the  lights  go  out  and  the  sec- 
ond act  begins.  We  got  so  busy  followin'  the 
nutty  scheme  of  this  conversation  expert  who 
plots  to  pass  off  a  flower-girl  for  a  Duchess 


214          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

that  the  next  wait  is  well  under  way  before  I 
remembers  the  gent  in  the  box. 

"Say,  he's  at  it  again,"  says  I.  "You  must 
be  makin'  a  hit  for  fair." 

"Precisely  what  I've  always  hoped  might 
happen,  —  to  be  stared  at  in  public,"  says  Zeno- 
bia.  "I'm  greatly  obliged  to  him,  I'm  sure. 
You  are  quite  certain,  though,  that  it  isn't  some- 
one just  behind  me  1  " 

I  whispers  that  there's  no  one  behind  her  but 
a  fat  woman  munchin'  chocolates  and  rubberin' 
back  to  see  if  Hubby  ain't  through  gettin'  his 
drink. 

'  l  There  !  He  's  takin  '  his  glasses  down,  '  '  says 
I.  "Know  the  party,  do  you?" 

"Not  at  this  distance,"  says  Zenobia.  "No, 
I  shajl  insist  that  he  is  an  unknown  admirer." 

By  that  time,  though,  I'd  got  a  better  view 
myself.  And  —  say,  hadn't  I  seen  them  ruddy 
cheeks  and  that  gray  hair  and  them  droopy  eyes 
before  f  Why,  sure  !  It  's  what  's-his-name,  the 
old  guy  who  blew  into  the  Corrugated  awhile 
ago,  my  absentee  boss  —  Ballard! 

Maybe  I'd  have  told  Zenobia  all  about  him 
if  there  'd  been  time  ;  but  there  wa  'n  't.  An- 
other flash  of  the  lights,  and  we  was  watchin' 
'  the  last  act,  where  this  gutter-bred  Pygmalion 
sprouts  a  soul.  And  when  it  's  all  over  of  course 
we  're  swept  out  with  the  ebb  tide,  make  a  scram- 
ble for  our  taxi,  and  are  off  for  home.  Then  as 


JU.  U^M 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE     215 

we  gets  to  the  door  I  has  the  sudden  hunch 
about  eats. 

"There's  a  joint  around  on  Sixth-ave.," 
says  I,  lettin'  Aunt  Zenobia  in,  "where  they  sell 
hot  dog  sandwiches  with  sauerkraut  trimmin's. 
I  believe  I  could  just  do  with  one  about 
now. ' ' 

"What  an  atrocious  suggestion  at  this  hour 
of  the  night!"  says  she.  "Torchy,  don't  you 
dare  bring  one  of  those  abominations  'into  the 
house — unless  you  have  enough  to  divide  with 
me.  About  four,  I  should  say. " 

"With  mustard?"  says  I. 

"Heaps!"  says  she. 

Three  minutes  later  I'm  hurryin'  back  with 
both  hands  full,  when  I  notices  another  taxi 
standin'  out  front.  Then  who  should  step  out 
but  this  Ballard  party,  in  a  silk  hat  and  a  swell 
fur-lined  overcoat. 

"Young  man,"  says  he,  "haven't  I  seen  you 
somewhere  before?" 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I.    "I'm  your  private  sec." 

"Wha-a-at?"  says  he.  "My — oh,  yes!  I 
remember.  I  saw  you  at  the  Corrugated." 

"And  then  again  at  the  show  to-night," 
says  I. 

"To  be  sure,"  says  he.    "With  a  lady,  eh?" 

I  nods. 

"Lives  here,  doesn't  she?"  asks  Ballard. 

1 '  Eight  again, ' '  says  I.    ' '  Goin '  to  call  ? ' ' 


216          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Why,"  says  he,  "the  fact  is,  young  man,  I 
— er — see  here,  it's  Zenobia  Hadley,  isn't  it?" 

"Preble,"  says  I.    "Mrs.  Zenobia  Preble." 

"Hang  the  Preble  part!"  says  he.  "He's 
dead  years  ago.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  who 
else  lives  here!" 

' '  Only  her  and  Sister  Martha  and  me, ' '  says  I. 

"Martha,  eh?"  says  he.  "Still  alive,  is  she? 
Well,  well!  And  Zenobia  now,  is  she — er — a 
good  deal  like  her  sister?" 

"About  as  much  as  Z  is  like  M,"  says  I. 
"She's  a  live  one,  Aunt  Zenobia  is,  if  that's 
what  you're  gettin'  at." 

"Thank  you,"  says  he.  "That  is  it  exactly. 
And  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  She  used  to  be,  as  you 
put  it,  rather  a  live  one;  but  I  didn't  quite 
know  how " 

"Kyrle  Ballard,  is  that  you?"  comes  floatin' 
out  from  the  front  door.  "If  it  is,  and  you 
wish  to  know  anything  more  about  Zenobia 
Hadley,  I  should  advise  you  to  come  to  head- 
quarters. Torchy,  bring  in  those  sandwiches — 
and  Mr.  Ballard,  i'f  he  cares  to  follow. ' ' 

' '  There ! ' '  says  I  to  Ballard.  *  *  You  've  got  a 
sample.  That's  Zenobia.  Are  you  comin'  or 
goin'?" 

Foolish  question!  He's  leadin'  the  way  up 
the  steps. 

"Zenobia,"  says  he,  holdin'  out  both  hands, 
"  I  humbly  apologize  for  following  you  in  this 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE      217 

impulsive  fashion.  I  saw  you  at  the  theater, 
and " 

"If  you  hadn't  done  something  of  the  kind," 
says  she,  "I  shouldn't  have  been  at  all  sure  it 
was  really  you.  You've  changed  so  much!" 

' '  I  admit  it, ' '  says  he.  * '  One  does,  you  know, 
in  forty  years." 

'  *  There,  there,  Kyrle  Ballard ! ' '  warns  Zenot 
bia.  "Throw  the  calendar  at  me  again,  and 
out  you  go!  I  simply  won't  have  it!  Besides, 
I'm  hungry.  Torchy  is  to  blame.  He  sug- 
gested hot  dog  sandwiches..  Take  a  sniff.  Do 
they  appeal  to  you,  or  have  you  cultivated  epi- 
curean tastes  to  such  an  extent  that " 

"Ah-h-h-h!"  says  Ballard,  bendin'  over  the 
paper  bag  I'm  holdin'.  "My  favorite  delicacy. 
And  if  I  might  be  permitted  to  add  a  bottle 
or  two  of  cold  St.  Louis " 

"Do  you  think  I  keep  house  without  an 
icebox?"  demands  Zenobia.  "Stop  your 
silly  speeches,  and  let's  get  into  the  dining- 
room." 

Some  hustler,  Zenobia  is,  too.  Inside  of  two 
minutes  she's  shed  her  wraps,  passed  out  plates 
and  glasses,  and  we're  tacklin'  a  Coney  Island 
collation. 

"I  had  been  wondering  if  it  could  be  you," 
says  Ballard.  "I'd  been  watching  you  through 
the  glasses." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  says  Zenobia.    "And  we  had 


218          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

quite  settled  it  that  you  were  a  strange  admirer. 
I'm  frightfully  disappointed!" 

' '  Then  you  didn  't  know  me  ?' '  says  he.  ' '  But 
just  now " 

"Voices  don't  turn  gray  or  change  color/' 
says  Zenobia.  "Yours  sounds  just  as  it  did — 
well,  the  last  time  I  heard  it." 

"That  August  night,  eh?"  suggests  Mr.  Bal- 
lard,  suspendin'  operations  on  the  sandwich  and 
leanin'  eager  across  the  table. 

He's  a  chirky,  chipper  old  scout,  with  a  lot 
of  twinkles  left  in  his  blue  eyes.  Must  have 
been  some  gay  boy  in  his  day  too ;  for  even  now 
he  shows  up  more  or  less  ornamental  in  his 
evenin'  clothes.  And  Zenobia  ain't  such  a  bad 
looker  either,  you  know;  especially  just  now, 
with  her  ears  pinked  up  and  her  eyes  sparklin' 
mischievous.  I  don't  know  whether  it's  from 
takin'  massage  treatments  reg'lar,  or  if  it  just 
comes  natural,  but  she  don't  need  to  cover  up 
her  collar  bone  or  wear  things  around  her  neck. 

"Yes,  that  night,"  says  she,  liftin'  her  glass. 
"Shall  we  drink  just  once  to  the  memory  of 
it?" 

Which  they  did. 

"And  now,"  goes  on  Zenobia,  "we  will  for- 
get it,  if  you  please. ' ' 

* '  Not  I, ' '  says  Ballard.  ' '  Another  thing :  I  've 
never  forgiven  your  sister  Martha  for  what  she 
did  then.  I  never  will." 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE     219 

Zenobia  indulges  in  a  trilly  little  laugh.  * '  No 
more  has  she  forgiven  you,"  says  she.  "How 
absurd  of  you  both,  just  as  though — but  we'll 
not  talk  about  it.  I've  no  time  for  yesterdays. 
To-day  is  too  full.  Tell  me,  why  are  you  back 
here?" 

* '  Because  seven  armies  have  chased  me  out  of 
Europe, ' '  says  he,  * '  and  my  charming  Vienna  is 
too  full  of  typhus  to  be  quite  healthy.  If  I'd 
dreamed  of  finding  you  like  this,  I  should  have 
come  long  ago." 

"Very  pretty,"  says  Zenobia.  "I'd  love  to 
believe  it,  just  for  the  sake  of  repeating  it  to 
Martha  in  fhe  morning.  She  is  still  with  me, 
you  know. ' ' 

"As  saintly  as  ever?"  asks  Ballard. 

"At  thirty  Martha  was  quite  as  good  as  she 
could  be,"  says  Zenobia.  "There  she  seems 
to  have  stopped.  So  naturally  her  opinion  of 
you  hasn't  altered  in  the  least." 

"And  yours?"  says  he. 

"Did  I  have  opinions  at  twenty- two?"  says 
she.  "How  ridiculous !  I  had  emotions,  moods, 
mad  impulses;  anyway,  something  that  led  me 
to  give  you  seven  dances  in  a  row  and  stay 
until  after  one  A.M.  when  I  had  promised  some- 
one to  leave  at  eleven.  You  don't  think  I've 
kept  up  that  sort  of  thing,  do  you?" 

"I  don't  know,"  says  Ballard.  "I  wouldn't 
be  sure.  One  never  could  be  sure  of  Zenobia 


220          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Hadley.  I  suppose  that  was  why  I  took  my 
chance  when  I  did,  why  I " 

"Kyrle  Ballard,  you've  finished  your  sand- 
wich, haven't  you!"  breaks  in  Zenobia. 
''There!  It's  striking  twelve,  and  I  make  it 
a  rule  never  to  be  sentimental  after  midnight. 
You  and  Martha  wouldn't  enjoy  meeting  each 
other;  so  you'll  not  be  coming  again.  Besides, 
I've  a  busy  week  ahead  of  me.  When  you  get 
settled  abroad  again,  though,  you  might  let 
me  know.  Good-night.  Happy  dreams." 

And  before  Ballard  can  protest  he's  bein' 
shooed  out. 

"You'll  take  luncheon  with  me  to-morrow," 
he  calls  back  from  his  cab. 

"Probably  not,"  says  Zenobia. 

"Oh  yes,  you  will,  Zenobia,"  says  he.  "I'm 
a  desperate  character  still.  Remember  that ! ' ' 

She  laughs  and  shuts  the  door.  "There, 
Torchy!"  says  she.  "See  what  complications 
come  from  combining  hot  dogs  with  Bernard 
Shaw.  And  if  Martha  should  happen  to  get 
down  before  those  bottles  are  removed — well,  I 
should  have  to  tell  her  all. ' ' 

Trust  Martha.  She  did.  And  when  I  fin- 
ished breakfast  she  was  still  waitin'  for  Zeno- 
bia to  come  down  and  be  quizzed.  I  don't  know 
how  far  back  into  fam'ly  hist'ry  that  little  chat 
took  'em,  or  what  Martha  had  to  say.  All  I 
know  is  that  when  I  shows  up  for  dinner  and 


ZENOBIA  DIGS  UP  A  LATE  ONE     221 

comes  downstairs  about  six-thirty  there  sits 
Martha  in  the  lib'ry,  rocking  back  and  forth 
with  that  patient,  resigned  look  on  her  face,  as 
if  she  was  next  in  line  at  the  dentist's. 

"Zenobia  isn't  in  yet,"  says  she.  "We  will 
wait  dinner  awhile  for  her." 

Then  chunks  of  silence  from  Martha,  which 
ain't  usual.  At  seven  o'clock  we  gives  it  up  and 
sits  down  alone.  We  hadn't  finished  our  soup 
when  this  telegram  comes.  First  off  I  thought 
Martha  was  goin'  to  choke  or  blow  a  cylinder 
head,  I  didn't  know  which.  Then  she  takes  to 
sobbin'  into  the  consomme,  and  fin'lly  she  shoves 
the  message  over  to  me. 

"Wh-a-at?"  I  gasps.    " Eloped,  have  they?" 

"I — I  knew  they  would,"  says  Martha,  "just 
as  soon  as  I  heard  he  'd  been  here.  He — he  al- 
ways wanted  her  to  do  it." 

"Always?"  says  I.  "Why,  I  thought  he 
hadn't  seen  her  for  forty  years  or  so.  How 
could  that  be?" 

" We-we-well, "  sobs  Martha,  "I — I  stopped 
them  once.  And  she  engaged  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Preble  at  the  time!  It  was  scandalous!  Such 
a  wild,  reckless  fellow  Kyrle  Ballard  was  too. " 

"Wh-e-ew!"  I  whistles.  "That  was  goin' 
some  for  Zenobia,  wasn't  it?  How  near  did 
they  come  to  doin'  the  slope!" 

"She — she  was  actually  stealing  out  to  meet 
him,  her  things  all  on,"  says  Martha,  "when — 


222          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

when  I  woke  up  and  found  her.  I  made  her 
come  back  by  threatening  to  call  Mother.  En- 
gaged for  two  years,  she  and  Mr.  Preble  had 
been,  and  the  wedding  day  all  set.  He'd  just 
got  a  nice  church  too,  his  first.  I  saved  her  that 

time;  but  now "  Martha  relapses  into  the 

sob  act. 

"The  giddy  young  things!"  says  I.  "Gone 
off  on  a  honeymoon  trip  too!  Say,  that  ain't 
such  slow  work,  is  it?  Gettin'  there  a  little  late, 
maybe;  but  if  there  ever  was  a  pair  of  silver 
sixties  meant  to  be  mated  up,  I  guess  it 's  them. 
Well,  well !  I  stand  to  lose  a  near-aunt  by  the 
deal;  but  they  get  my  blessin',  anyway." 

As  for  Aunt  Martha,  she  keeps  right  on  thin- 
nin'  out  the  soup. 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

SIFTING   OUT   UNCLE   BILL 

THINGS  happen  to  you  quick,  don't  they,  when 
the  happenin'  is  good?  Take  this  affair  of 
Zenobia's.  One  day  I'm  settled  down  all  comfy 
and  solid  with  two  old  near-aunts  who'd  been 
livin'  in  the  same  place  and  doin'  the  same 
things  for  the  last  thirty  years  or  so,  and  the 
next — well,  off  one  of  'em  goes,  elopes  with 
an  old-time  beau  of  hers  that  happens  to  show 
up  here  just  because  Europe  is  bein'  shot  up. 

And  then,  before  I've  recovered  from  that 
jolt,  comes  this  human  surprise  package  labeled 
Dorsett,  who  blows  breezy  into  the  Corrugated. 
Fair-haired  Vincent,  who  still  holds  my  old 
place  on  the  brass  gate,  brings  in  his  card. 

"William  H.  Dorsett?"  says  I.  "Never 
heard  of  the  party.  Did  he  ask  for  Mutual 
Funding?" 

' '  No,  Sir, ' '  says  Vincent.  ' '  He  asked  for  you, 
Sir." 

"How?"  says  I. 

At  which  Vincent  tints  up  embarrassed.  * '  He 
said  he  wished  to  talk  to  a  young  fellow  known 
as  Torchy,  Sir,"  says  he. 


224          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Almost  a  description  of  me,  ain't  it?"  says 
I.  "Well,  tow  him  in,  Vincent,  until  I  see  if 
his  map 's  any  more  familiar  than  his  name. ' ' 

It  wa'n't.  He's  a  middle-aged  gent,  kind  of 
tall  and  stoop-shouldered,  with  curly  hair  that's 
.started  to  frost  up  above  the  ears.  The  rain- 
coat he's  wearin'  is  a  little  seedy,  specially 
about  the  collar  and  cuffs;  but  he's  sportin'  a 
silver-mounted  walldn '-stick,  and  has  a  new  pair 
of  yellow  gloves  stickin'  from  his  breast  pocket. 

With  a  free  and  easy  stride  he  follows  Vin- 
cent's directions,  sails  over  to  my  corner  of 
the  private  office,  pulls  up  a  chair,  and  camps 
down  by  the  desk  without  any  urgin'.  Also  he 
favors  me  with  a  friendly  smile  that  he  pro- 
duces from  one  corner  of  his  mouth.  Sort  of 
a  catchy  smile  it  is  too,  and  before  we  've 
swapped  a  word  I  finds  myself  smilin'  back. 

"Well!"  says  I.    "You're  introducin'  what?" 

"Just  William  H.  Dorsett,"  says  he. 

' '  You  do  it  well, ' '  says  I. 

He  allows  the  off  corner  of  his  mouth  to  loosen 
up  again,  and  for  a  second  his  deep-set  brown 
eyes  steady  down  as  he  gives  me  the  once-over. 
Kind  of  an  amused,  quizzin'  look  it  is,  but  more 
or  less  foxy.  He  crosses  his  legs  and  hitches  up 
his  chair  confidential. 

'  *  I  imagine  you  're  rather  used  to  handling  big 
propositions  here,"  says  he,  takin'  in  the  office 
mahogany,  the  expensive  floor  rugs,  and  every- 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        225 

thing  else  in  a  quick  glance:  "so  I  hope  you 
won't  mind  if  I  present  a  small  one." 

' '  In  funding  I ' '  says  I. 

"It  might  very  well  come  under  that  head," 
says  he.  ''Ever  do  much  with  municipal  fran- 
chises,— trolleys,  lighting,  that  sort  of  thing f" 

"Nope,"  says  I;  "nor  racin'  tips,  church  fair 
chances,  or  Danish  lottery  tickets.  We  don't 
even  back  new  movie  concerns. ' ' 

That  gets  a  twinkle  out  of  his  restless  eyes. 
"I  don't  blame  you  in  the  least,"  says  he.  "I 
suppose  there  are  more  worthless  franchises 
hawked  around  New  York  than  you  could  stuff 
into  a  moving  van.  That's  what  makes  it  so 
difficult  to  get  action  on  any  real,  gilt-edged 
propositions." 

"Such  as  you've  got  in  your  inside  pocket, 
eh?"  says  I. 

"Precisely,"  says  he.  "Mine  are  the  worth- 
while kind.  Of  course  franchises  are  common 
enough.  It's  no  trick  at  all  to  go  into  the  aver- 
age Eube  village,  'steen  miles  from  a  railroad, 
and  get  'em  thrilled  with  the  notion  of  being 
connected  by  trolley  with  Jaytown,  umpteen 
miles  south.  Why,  they'll  hand  you  anything 
in  sight!  A  deaf-mute  could  go  out  and  get 
that  sort  of  franchise.  But  to  prospect  through 
the  whole  cotton  belt,  locate  opportunities  where 
the  dividends  will  follow  the  rails,  pick  out  the 
cream  of  them  all,  get  in  right  with  the  board 


226          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

of  trade,  fix  things  up  with  a  suspicious  town 
council,  stall  off  the  local  capitalist  who  would 
like  to  hog  all  the  profits  himself,  and  set  the 
real  estate  operators  working  for  you  tooth  and 
nail — well,  that  is  legitimate  promoting;  my 
brand,  if  you  will  permit  me." 

"Maybe,"  says  I.  "But  the  Corrugated 
don't " 

"I  understand,"  breaks  in  Mr.  Dorsett. 
"Quite  right  too.  But  here  I  produce  the  per- 
sonal equation.  For  five  weary  weeks  I've  skit- 
tered about  this  city,  carrying  around  with  me 
half  a  dozen  of  the  ripest,  richest  franchise 
propositions  ever  matured.  Bona-fide  pros- 
pects, mind  you,  communities  just  yearning  for 
transportation  facilities,  with  tentative  stock 
subscriptions  running  as  high  as  two  hundred 
thousand  in  some  cases.  They're  schemes  I've 
nursed  from  the  seed  up,  as  you  might  say.  I  Ve 
laid  all  the  underground  wires,  seen  all  the  offi- 
cials that  need  seeing,  planned  for  every  right 
of  way.  Six  splendid  opportunities  that  may 
be  coined  into  cash  simply  by  pressing  the  but- 
ton !  And  the  nearest  I  can  get  to  any  man  with 
real  money  to  invest  is  a  two-minute  interview 
in  a  reception  room  with  some  clerk.  All  be- 
cause I  lack  someone  to  take  me  into  a  private 
office  and  remark  casually:  'Mr.  So-and-So, 
here's  my  friend  Dorsett,  who's  bringing  us 
something  good  from  the  South.'  That's  all. 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        227 

Why,  only  last  week  I  actually  offered  to  de- 
liver a  fifty-thousand-dollar  franchise  on  a  ten 
per  cent,  commission  basis,  provided  I  was  given 
a  beggarly  two  hundred  advance  for  expenses — 
and  had  it  turned  down ! ' ' 

"Ye-e-es,"  says  I.  ''The  way  some  of  them 
Wall  Street  plutes  shrink  from  bein'  made 
richer  is  painful,  ain't  it?  But  I  don't  see 
where  I  fit  in. ' ' 

Mr.  Dorsett  pats  me  chummy  on  the  shoulder 
and  proceeds  to  show  me  exactly  where.  "You 
know  the  right  people,"  says  he.  "You're  in 
with  them.  Very  well.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  the 
'Here's  Mr.  Dorsett'  part.  I'll  do  the  rest." 

' '  How  simple ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  And  us  old  friends 
of  about  five  minutes'  standin'!  Say,  throw 
in  your  reverse  or  you'll  be  off  the  bridge. 
Who's  been  tellin'  you  I  was  such  a  simp?" 

Mr.  Dorsett  smiles  indulgent.  "My  error," 
says  he.  "But  I  was  hoping  that  perhaps  you 

might Come,  Torchy,  hasn't  it  occurred 

to  you  that  I  would  hardly  come  as  an  utter 
stranger?  Who  do  you  suppose  now  gave  me 
your  address?" 

"The  chairman  of  the  Stock  Exchange?" 
says  I. 

"Mother  Leary,"  says  he. 

"Eh?"  says  I,  gawpin'. 

"A  flip  of  fate,"  says  he.  "At  my  hotel  I 
got  to  talking  with  the  room  clerk,  and  discov- 


228  TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

ered  that  his  name  was  Leary.  It  turned  out 
that  he  was  Aloysius,  the  eldest  boy.  Remem- 
ber him,  don't  you?" 

Seem'  how  I'd  almost  been  brought  up  in  the 
fam'ly  when  I  was  a  kid,  I  couldn't  deny  it. 
Course  I'd  run  more  with  Hunch  than  any  of 
the  other  boys.  We'd  sold  papers  together,  and 
gone  into  the  A.  D.  T.  at  the  same  time.  But 
there  wasn't  a  Leary  I  didn't  know  all  about. 

"You  must  have  boarded  there  too,"  says  I. 
* '  But  if  I  ever  heard  your  name,  it  didn  't  stick. ' ' 

"It  may  have  been,"  says  he,  "that  I  was  not 
using  the  Dorsett  part  of  it  just  at  that  time. 
Business  reasons,  you  understand.  But  the  H 
in  my  name  stands  for  Hines.  What  about  Wil- 
liam Hines,  now  ? ' ' 

"Hm-m-m!"  says  I,  starin'  at  him.  Sure 
enough,  that  did  have  a  familiar  sound  to  it. 

"Let's  try  it  this  way,"  says  he:  "Uncle  Bill 
Hines." 

And,  say,  that  got  me !  I  expect  I  made  some 
gaspy  motions  before  I  managed  to  get  out  my 
next  remark.  l '  You — you  ain  't  the  one  that  left 
me  with  Mother  Leary,  are  you?"  I  asks. 

Dorsett  nods.  "I'm  a  trifle  late  in  explain- 
ing that  carelessness,"  says  he,  "and  I  can 
only  plead  guilty  to  all  your  reproaches.  But 
consider  the  circumstances.  There  I  was,  a 
free  lance  of  fortune,  down  to  my  last  dollar, 
and  rich  only  in  the  companionship  of  a  bright- 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        229 

eyed,  four-year-old  youngster  who  had  been 
trusted  to  my  care.  You  remember  very  little 
of  that  period,  I  suppose;  but  it  is  all  vivid 
enough  to  me,  even  now, — how  we  tramped  up 
and  down  Broadway,  you  chattering  away,  ex- 
cited and  happy,  while  I  was  wondering  what  I 
should  do  when  that  last  dollar  was  gone. 

"Then,  just  when  things  seem  blackest,  ar- 
rived opportunity, — the  Birmingham  boom.  I 
ran  across  one  of  the  boomers,  who  was  struck 
with  the  brilliant  idea  that  he  could  make  use 
of  my  peculiar  talents  in  making  known  the 
coming  glories  of  the  new  South.  But  I  must 
join  him  at  once,  that  very  day.  And  he  waved 
yellow-backed  bills  at  me.  I  simply  had  to  drop 
you  and  go.  Mother  Leary  promised  to  take 
care  of  you  for  three  months,  or  until  your — 
well,  until  someone  else  claimed  you.  I  sent 
word  to  them  both,  at  least  I  tried  to,  and 
rushed  gayly  down  into  Dixie.  Perhaps  you 
never  heard  of  the  bursting  of  that  first  Bir- 
mingham boom?  It  was  an  abrupt  but  very 
complete  smash.  I  came  out  of  it  owning  two 
gorgeous  suits  of  clothes,  one  silk  hat,  and  an 
opulent-looking  pocketbook,  bulging  with  thirty- 
day  options  on  corner  lots.  One  of  the  clerks 
in  our  office  staked  me  with  carfare  to  Atlanta, 
where  I  got  a  job  collecting  tenement  house 
rents. 

"Since  then  I've  been  up  and  down.    Half  a 


230          TOKCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

dozen  times  I've  almost  had  my  fingers  on  the 
tail  feathers  of  fortune:  only  to  stumble  into 
some  hidden  pit  of  poverty.  And  in  time — well, 
time  mends  all  things.  Besides,  I  hardly  rel- 
ished facing  Mother  Leary.  There  was  the 
chance  too  that  you  no  longer  needed  rescuing. 
I'm  not  trying  to  excuse  my  breach  of  faith: 
I  am  merely  telling  you  how  it  came  about.  You 
realize  that,  I  trust!" 

Did  I?  I  don't  know.  I  expect  I  was  just 
sittin'  there  gazing  stary  at  him.  Only  one 
thing  was  shapin'  itself  clear  in  my  head,  and 
fin'lly  I  states  it  flat. 

"Say,"  says  I,  "you — you  ain't  my  reg'lar 
uncle,  are  you  ? ' ' 

Maybe  I  wa'n't  as  enthusiastic  as  the  case 
called  for.  He  springs  that  smile  of  his. 
"Hardly  a  flattering  way  to  put  it,"  says  he. 
"Would  you  be  disappointed  if  I  was?" 

"Well,"  says  I,  eyin'  him  up  and  down,  "you 
don't  strike  me  as  such  a  swell  uncle,  you 
know. ' ' 

Don't  faze  him  a  bit,  either.  "Our  near  rela- 
tives are  seldom  quite  satisfactory,"  says  he. 

"Of  course,  though,  if  I  fail  to  suit "  He 

hunches  his  shoulders  and  reaches  for  his  hat. 

So  he  had  it  on  me,  you  see.  Suppose  you 
was  as  shy  on  relations  as  I  am,  would  you 
turn  down  the  only  one  that  ever  showed  up? 

"Excuse  me  if  I  don't  get  the  cues  right," 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        231 

says  I;  "but — but  this  has  been  put  over  a  little 
sudden.  Course  I'll  take  Mrs.  Leary's  word. 
If  she  says  you're  my  Uncle  Bill,  that  goes. 
Anyway,  you  can  give  me  a  line  on — on  my 
folks,  I  suppose?" 

Yes,  he  admits  that  he  can ;  but  he  don't.  And 
I  will  say  for  him  that  he  states  his  case  smooth 
enough,  smilin'  that  catchy  smile  of  his,  and 
tappin'  me  friendly  on  the  knee.  But  when  he 's 
all  through  it  amounts  to  this:  He  needs  the 
loan  of  a  couple  of  hundred  cash  the  worst  way, 
and  he  wants  to  be  put  next  to  a  few  plutes 
that  are  in  the  market  for  new  trolley  fran- 
chises. If  I  can  boost  him  along  that  way,  it'll 
relieve  his  mind  so  much  that  he'll  be  in  just 
the  right  mood  to  go  into  my  personal  hist'ry  as 
deep  as  I  care  to  dip. 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "But  this  raisin'  a  fam'ly 
tree  comes  high,  don't  it?  Besides,  I'd  have  to 
get  Mother  Leary's  0.  K.  on  you  first,  you 
know. ' ' 

1 1  Naturally, ' '  says  he.  ' '  And  any  time  within 
the  next  day  or  so  will  answer.  Suppose  I  drop 
around  again,  or  look  you  up  at  your  quar- 
ters?" 

"Better  make  it  at  the.  house,"  says  I. 
1 '  Here 's  the  street  number.  Some  evenin '  after 
seven- thirty.  I — I  '11  be  thinkin '  things  over. ' ' 

And  as  I  watches  him  swing  jaunty  through 
the  door  I  remarks  under  my  breath  to  nobody 


232          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

in  partic'lar:  " Uncle  Bill,  eh?  My  Uncle  Bill! 
Well,  well!" 

You  can  be  sure  too  that  my  first  move  is  to 
sound  Mother  Leary.  She  says  he's  the  one, 
all  right,  and  I  gathers  that  she  gave  him  the 
tongue-lashin'  she'd  been  savin'  up  all  these 
years.  But  I  don't  stop  for  details.  If  I've 
really  had  an  uncle  wished  on  me,  it's  up  to  me 
to  make  the  best  of  it,  or  find  out  the  worst. 
But  somehow  I  ain't  so  chesty  about  havin'  dug 
up  a  relation.  I  don't  brag  about  it  to  Martha 
when  I  go  home.  In  fact,  Martha  has  fam'ly 
troubles  of  her  own  about  now,  you  remember. 
I  finds  her  weepy-eyed  and  solemn. 

11  They've  been  gone  more  than  a  week,"  says 
she,  "Zenobia  and  that  reckless  Kyrle  Ballard. 
Pretty  soon  they  will  be  coming  back,  and 
then " 

"Well,  what  then?"  says  I. 

"I've  been  packing  up  to-day,"  says  she, 
swabbin'  off  a  stray  tear  from  the  side  of  her 
nose.  "I  have  engaged  rooms  at  the  Lady 
Louise.  I  suppose  you  will  be  leaving  too." 

"Me?"  says  I. 

It  hadn't  struck  me  that  Aunt  Zenobia's  get- 
ting married  was  goin*  to  throw  us  all  out  on 
the  street.  But  Aunt  Martha  had  it  doped 
diff  'rent. 

"Stay  in  the  same  house  with  that  man?" 
says  she.  "Not  I !  And  I  am  quite  sure  he  will 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        233 

not  want  either  of  us  around  when  he  comes 
back  here  as  Zenobia  's  husband. ' ' 

1  'If  that's  the  case,"  says  I,  "it  won't  take 
me  long  to  clear  out;  but  I  guess  I'll  wait  until 
I  get  the  hint  direct.  You  'd  better  wait  too. ' ' 

Martha 'd  made  up  her  mind,  though.  She 
says  she'd  go  right  then  if  it  wa'n't  for  leavin' 
the  servants  alone  in  the  house;  but  the  very 
minute  Sister  Zenobia  arrives  she  means  to  beat 
it.  And  sure  enough  next  day  she  has  her  trunk 
brought  down  into  the  front  hall  and  begins 
wearin'  her  bonnet  around  the  house.  It's  a 
little  weird  to  see  her  pokin'  about  dressed  that 
way,  and  her  wraps  and  rubbers  laid  out  handy, 
as  if  she  belonged  to  a  volunteer  hose  comp  'ny. 

It  was  after  the  second  day  of  this  watchful 
waitin',  and  we're  sittin'  down  to  a  six-forty- 
five  dinner,  when  a  big  racket  breaks  loose  out 
front.  The  bell  rings  four  times  rapid,  Lizzie 
the  maid  almost  breaks  her  neck  gettin'  to  the 
door,  and  in  breezes  the  runaway  pair  with  all 
their  baggage,  chucklin'  and  chatterin'  like  a 
couple  of  kids.  Some  stunnin'  Aunt  Zenobia 
looks,  for  all  her  gray  hair;  and  Mr.  Ballard, 
in  his  Scotch  tweed  suit  and  with  his  ruddy 
cheeks,  don 't  look  a  day  over  fifty.  They  're  gig- 
gling merry  over  some  remark  of  Lizzie's,  and 
Zenobia  calls  in  through  the  draperies. 

"Hello,  Martha — Torchy — everybody!"  she 
sings  out.  "Well,  here  we  are,  back  from  that 


234          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

absurd  boardwalk  resort,  back  to — well,  for  the 
love  of  ladies!  Martha  Hadley,  why  in  the 
name  of  nonsense  are  you  eating  dinner  with 
your  hat  on?" 

" Because,"  says  Martha,  beginnin'  to  sniffle, 
"I — I'm  going  away." 

' '  But  where  I    Why  f ' '  demands  Zenobia. 

And  between  sobs  Martha  explains.  She  in- 
cludes me  in  it  too. 

1 l  Then  why  aren  't  you  wearing  your  hat  also, 
Torchy?"  asks  Zenobia. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "I  ain't  so  sure  about  quit- 
tin'  as  she  is.  I  thought  I'd  stick  around  until 
I  got  the  word  to  move. ' ' 

"Which  you're  not  at  all  likely  to  get,  young 
man,"  says  Zenobia.  "And  as  for  you,  Martha, 
you  should  have  better  sense.  Trapsing  off  to 
a  hotel,  at  your  time  of  life!  Rubbish!  And 
why,  please  f ' ' 

Aunt  Martha  nods  towards  Ballard. 

"Well,  you're  just  going  to  get  over  that  non- 
sense," says  Zenobia.  "Kyrle,  you  know  what 
you  promised  when  you  told  me  you'd  make  up 
with  Martha?  Now  is  the  appointed  time.  Do 
it!" 

And  Mr.  Ballard,  chuckin'  his  hat  and  over- 
coat on  a  chair,  sails  right  in.  I  expect  it  was 
the  last  thing  in  the  world  Martha  was  lookin' 
for;  for  she  sits  there  gazin'  at  him  sort  of 
stupid  until  he's  done  the  trick.  Uh-huh!  No 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL       235 

halfway  business  about  it,  either.  He  just 
naturally  takes  her  chubby  old  face  between  his 
two  hands,  tilts  up  her  chin,  and  plants  a  reg'lar 
final  curtain  smack  where  I'll  bet  it's  been  forty 
years  since  the  lips  of  man  had  trod  before. 

First  off  Martha  flops  her  arms  and  squeals. 
Then,  when  she  finds  it's  all  over  and  ain't 
goin'  to  be  any  continuous  performance,  she 
quiets  down  and  stares  at  the  two  of  'em,  who 
are  chucklin'  away  merry. 

" Please,  Sister  Martha,"  says  Ballard,  "try 
to  overlook  that  old  affair  of  mine  when  I  tried 
to  cut  out  the  Eev.  Preble.  I  was  rather  irre- 
sponsible then,  I'll  own;  but  I  have  steadied 
down  a  lot,  although  for  the  last  week  or  so — 
well,  you  know  how  giddy  Zenobia  is.  But  you 
will  help  us.  We  can't  either  of  us  spare  you, 
you  see." 

Maybe  it  was  the  jollyin'  speech,  or  maybe  it 
was  the  unexpected  smack,  but  inside  of  five 
minutes  Martha  has  shed  her  bonnet  and  we  're 
all  sittin'  around  the  table  as  friendly  and  jolly 
as  you  please. 

I  suppose  it  was  by  way  of  makin'  Martha 
feel  comf 'table  and  as  if  she  was  really  part 
of  the  game  that  they  got  to  reminiscin'  about 
old  times  and  the  folks  they  used  to  know.  I 
wa'n't  followin'  it  very  close  until  Martha  gets 
to  askin'  Ballard  about  some  of  his  people,  and 
he  starts  in  on  this  story  about  his  nephew. 


236          TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

"Poor  Dick !"  says  he,  pushin'  back  his  demi- 
tasse  and  lightin'  up  a  big  perfecto.  "Now  if 
he  'd  been  my  boy,  things  might  have  turned  out 
differently.  But  my  respected  brother — well, 
you  knew  Eichard,  Martha.  Not  at  all  like  me, 
— eminently  respectable,  a  bit  solemn,  and  tre- 
mendously stiff-necked  on  occasion.  The  way 
he  took  on  about  that  red-headed  Irish  girl,  for 
instance.  Irene,  you  know.  Why,  you  might 
have  thought,  to  have  heard  him  storm  around, 
that  she  was  a  veritable  sorceress,  or  something 
of  the  kind;  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she 
was  just  a  nice,  wholesome,  keen-witted  young 
woman.  Pretty  as  a  picture,  she  was,  and  as 
true  as  gold  too, — a  lot  too  good  for  young  Dick 
Ballard,  even  if  she  was  merely  a  girl  in  his 
father's  office.  You  couldn't  blame  her  for  lik- 
ing Dick,  though.  Everyone  did — the  scatter- 
brained scamp!  And  when  my  brother  went 
through  all  that  melodramatic  folly  of  cutting 
him  off  with  a  thousand  a  year — well,  we 
had  our  big  row  over  that.  That  was  when 
I  took  my  money  out  of  the  firm.  Lucky 
I  did  too.  When  the  panic  came  I  was 
safe." 

"Let's  see,"  says  Zenobia,  "Dick  and  the  girl 
ran  off  and  were  married,  weren't  they?" 

* '  Yes, ' '  says  Ballard.  "  It 's  in  the  blood,  you 
see.  They  went  to  Paris,  to  carry  out  one  of 
Dick's  great  schemes.  He  had  persuaded  some 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        237 

of  his  friends,  big  real  estate  dealers,  to  make 
him  their  foreign  agent.  His  idea  was,  I  be- 
lieve, to  catch  Western  millionaires  abroad  and 
sell  'em  Fifth-ave.  mansions.  Actually  did 
land  one  or  two  customers,  I  think.  But  it  was 
his  wife's  notion  that  turned  out  to  be  really 
practical, — leasing  French  and  Italian  villas  to 
rich  Americans.  Something  in  that,  you  know, 
and  if  Dick  had  only  stuck  to  it — but  Dick  never 
could.  He  got  in  with  some  mine  promoters, 
and  after  that  nothing  would  answer  but  that 
he  must  rush  right  back  to  Goldfield  and  look 
over  some  properties  that  were  for  sale  dirt 
cheap.  As  though  Dick  would  have  been  any 
wiser  after  he'd  seen  'em!  But  his  biggest 
piece  of  folly  was  in  taking  the  little  boy  along 
with  him." 

"What!  Away  from  his  mother?"  says 
Martha. 

"Just  like  Dick,"  says  Ballard.  "They 
couldn't  both  leave  the  leasing  business,  and  as 
she  knew  more  about  it  than  he  did — well,  that 's 
the  way  they  settled  it.  He  persuaded  her  it 
would  be  a  fine  thing  for  the  youngster.  Huh ! 
I  came  over  on  the  same  boat  with  them,  and 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  little  chap  simply  owned 
the  steamer !  Bright  1  Why,  he  was  the  cutest 
kid  you  ever  saw, — red-headed,  like  his  mother, 
and  with  his  father's  laugh.  Spent  most  of  his 
time  on  the  bridge  with  the  first  officer,  or  down 


238          TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

in  the  engine  room  with  the  chief.  Dick  never 
knew  where  he  was  half  the  time. 

* '  He  was  for  taking  the  boy  out  into  the  min- 
ing country  with  him  too.  I  supposed  he  had 
until  I  got  this  frantic  cable  from  Irene.  They'd 
sent  her  word  about  Dick 's  sudden  end, — he  al- 
ways did  have  a  weak  heart,  you  know, — ancl 
something  about  the  high  altitude  got  him. 
Went  off  like  that.  But  Irene  was  demanding 
of  me  to  tell  her  where  the  boy  was.  Of  course 
I  didn't  know.  I  did  my  best  to  find  him, 
hunted  high  and  low.  I  traced  Dick  to  Gold- 
field.  No  use.  The  boy  was  not  with  him  when 
he  went  West.  Where  he  had  left  him  was  a 
mystery  that " 

Buz-z-z-z!  goes  the  front  doorbell,  right  in 
the  middle  of  Mr.  Ballard  's  story,  and  in  comes 
Lizzie  sayin'  it's  someone  to  see  me.  For  a  sec- 
ond I  couldn't  think  who'd  be  huntin'  me  up 
here  at  this  time  of  the  evenin'.  And  then  I 
remembered, — Dorsett. 

"It — it's  an  uncle  of  mine,"  says  I  to  Zeno- 
bia,  "a  reg'lar  uncle." 

"Why,"  says  she,  "I  didn't  know  you  had 
one." 

"Me  either,"  says  I,  "until  the  other  day. 
He  just  turned  up.  Could  I  take  him  into  the 
libr'y?" 

"Of  course,"  says  Zenobia. 

I  was  kind  of  sorry  he'd  come.   I  hadn't  been 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        239 

so  chesty  over  Uncle  Bill  at  the  office ;  but  here, 
where  things  are  sort  of  quiet  and  classy — 
well,  I  could  see  where  he  wouldn't  show  up  so 
strong.  Besides,  I  hadn't  made  up  my  mind 
just  how  I  was  goin'  to  turn  down  his  propo- 
sition. 

I  towed  him  in,  though.  He  was  glancin' 
around  the  room  approvin',  and  makin'  a  few 
openin'  remarks,  when  the  folks  come  strollin' 
out  from  the  dinin'-room.  I  glances  up,  and 
sees  Mr.  Ballard  just  as  he 's  about  to  pass  the 
door.  So  does  Dorsett.  And,  say,  the  minute 
them  two  spots  each  other  things  sort  of  hung 
fire  and  stopped.  Dorsett  he  breaks  short  off 
what  he's  sayin',  and  Mr.  Ballard  comes  to  a 
halt  and  stands  starin'  in  the  room.  Next  I 
know  he's  pushed  in,  and  they're  facin'  each 
other. 

"Pardon  me,  Sir,"  says  Ballard,  "but  didn't 
you  cross  with  me  on  the  Lucania  once?  And 
weren't  you  thick  with  Dick  Ballard?'* 

Course  I  could  see  something  coming  right 
then;  but  I  didn't  know  what  it  was.  Mr.  Dor- 
sett's  shifty  eyes  take  another  look  at  Ballard, 
and  then  he  hitches  uneasy  in  his  chair. 

"Bather  an  odd  coincidence,  isn't  it?"  says 
he.  "Yes,  I  was  on  board  that  trip." 

"Then  you're  one  of  the  men  I've  been  look- 
ing for  a  good  many  years,"  says  Ballard. 
"You  knew  Dick  very  well,  didn't  you?  Thep 


240          TORCHY,  PEIVATE  SEC, 

perhaps  you  can  tell  me  who  he  left  that  boy 
of  his  with  when  he  went  West?" 

"Why,  yes,"  says  Dorsett,  smilin'  fidgety. 
"He — er — the  fact  is,  he  left  him  with  me." 

"With  you,  eh?"  says  Ballard.  "I  might 
have  guessed  as  much.  Well,  Sir,  where 's  the 
boy  now?" 

"Wha-a-at?"  gasps  Dorsett,  lookin'  from  me 
to  Mr.  Ballard.  "Where,  did  you  say!" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  comes  back  Ballard  snappy. 
"Where?" 

More  gasps  from  Dorsett.  But  he's  good  at 
duckin'  trouble.  With  a  wink  at  me  and  a 
chuckle  he  remarks :  '  *  Torchy,  suppose  you  tell 
the  gentleman  where  you  are?" 

Well,  say,  it  was  some  complicated  unravelin' 
we  did  durin'  the  next  few  minutes,  believe  me; 
but  after  Zenobia  and  Martha  had  been  called 
in,  and  Dorsett  has  done  some  more  of  his 
smooth  explaining  we  all  begun  to  see  where 
we  were  at. 

"Torchy,"  says  Zenobia  at  last,  "bring  down 
from  your  room  that  little  gold  locket  you've 
always  had." 

And  when  Mr.  Ballard  has  opened  it  and  held 
the  picture  under  the  readin'  light,  he  winds 
up  the  whole  debate  as  to  who's  who. 

"  It 's  Irene,  of  course, ' '  says  he.  ' '  Poor  girl ! 
But  she  had  her  day,  after  all.  Married  a 
French  army  officer,  you  know,  and  for  a  while 


SIFTING  OUT  UNCLE  BILL        241 

they  were  happy  together.  Then  the  war.  He 
was  dropped  somewhere  around  Rheims,  I  be- 
lieve. Then  I  heard  of  her  doing  volunteer  work 
at  a  field  hospital.  She  lasted  a  month  or  so 
at  that — typhus,  or  a  German  shell,  I  don't 
know  which.  But  she's  gone  too." 

And  me,  I  stands  there,  listenin'  gawpy,  with 
my  eyes  beginnin'  to  blur.  It's  Zenobia,  you 
might  know,  who  notices  first.  She  steps  over 
and  gathers  me  in  motherly.  Not  that  I  needs 
it,  as  I  know  of,  but — well,  it  was  kind  of  good 
to  feel  her  arm  around  me  just  then. 

"We'll  find  out  all  about  it  later;  won^t  we, 
Torchy?"  she  whispers. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Ballard  has  swung  on  Dorsett. 
* '  So  you  were  trying  to  pose  as  Uncle  Bill,  were 
you?"  he  demands.  "Well,  Sir,  you're  just 
about  the  caliber  of  man  Dick  would  choose  to 
put  his  trust  in!  But  I'll  bet  a  thousand  you 
were  not  finding  it  so  easy  to  fool  his  boy  here ! 
Going,  are  you?  This  way,  Sir." 

"At  that,  though,"  says  I,  as  the  door  shuts 
after  Dorsett,  "he  had  me  guessin'." 

"Yes,"  says  Mr.  Ballard,  "he  would,  any  of 
us." 

"And  I  don't  see,"  I  goes  on,  "as  I  got  any 
fam'ly  left,  after  all." 

"You — you  don't,  eh,  you  young  scamp?" 
says  Mr.  Ballard.  "Well,  as  there's  no  doubt 
about  your  being  my  nephew's  boy,  I'd  like  to 


242          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

know  why  I  don't  qualify  as  a  perfectly  good 
great-uncle  to  you?" 

"Why,  that's  so!"  says  I,  grinnin'  at  him. 
"I — I  guess  you  do.  And,  say,  if  you  don't 
rnind  my  sayin'  so,  you'll  do  fine!" 

So  what  if  Uncle  Bill  did  turn  out  a  ringer? 
He  was  more  or  less  useful,  even  if  he  did  gum 
up  the  plot  there  for  a  while.  Uh-huh !  Mighty 
useful!  For  there's  nothin'  phony  about  my 
new  Uncle  Kyrle,  take  it  from  me ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS 

SAY,  I  expect  it  ain't  good  form  to  get  chesty 
over  your  relations,  specially  when  they're  so 
new  as  mine;  but  I've  got  to  hand  it  to  Mr. 
Kyrle  Ballard.  After  three  weeks'  try  out  he 
shapes  up  as  some  grand  little  great-uncle,  take 
it  from  me ! 

First  off,  you  know,  I  had  him  card  indexed 
as  havin'  more  or  less  tabasco  in  his  tem- 
per'ment,  with  a  wide  grumpy  streak  runnin' 
through  his  ego.  And  he  is  kind  of  crisp  and 
snappy  in  his  talk,  I  '11  admit.  Strangers  might 
think  he  was  a  grouch  toter.  But  that 's  just  his 
way.  It 's  all  on  the  outside.  Back  of  that  gruff, 
offhand  talk  and  behind  them  bushy,  gray  eye- 
brows there 's  a  lot  of  fun  and  good  nature.  One 
of  the  kind  that's  never  seemed  to  grow  up, 
Uncle  Kyrle  is,  sixty-odd  and  still  a  kid;  al- 
ways springin'  some  josh  or  other,  and  dis- 
guisin'  the  good  turns  he  does  with  foolish  re- 
marks. And  to  hear  him  string  Aunt  Martha 
along  from  one  thing  to  another  is  sure  a  circus. 

"Good  morning,  Sister  Martha,"  says  he, 
bio  win'  in  to  a  late  Sunday  breakfast,  all  pinked 

243 


244          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

up  in  the  cheeks  from  a  cold  tub  and  a  clean 
shave.  "I  trust  that  you  begin  the  day  with  a 
deep  conviction  of  sin?" 

"Why,  I — I  suppose  I  do,  Kyrle,"  says  she, 
gettin'  fussed.  "That  is,  I  try  to." 

*  *  Good ! ' '  says  Uncle  Kyrle.  "  It  is  important 
that  some  one  in  this  family  should  recognize 
that  this  is  a  sad  and  wicked  world,  with  Virtue 
below  par  and  Honest  Worth  going  baggy  at 
the  knees.  Zenobia  here  has  no  conviction  of  sin 
whatever.  Mine  is  rather  weak  at  times.  So 
you,  Martha,  must  do  the  piety  for  all  of  us. 
And  please  ring  for  the  griddle  cakes  and 
sausage." 

Then  he  winks  at  Zenobia,  gives  his  grape- 
fruit a  sherry  bath,  and  proceeds  to  tackle  a 
hearty  breakfast. 

A  few  days  after  him  and  Zenobia  got  back 
from  their  runaway  honeymoon  trip  he  calls 
her  to  the  front  door.  "There's  a  person 
out  here  who  says  he  has  a  car  for  you," 
says  he. 

"Nonsense!"  says  Zenobia.  "Why,  I 
haven't  ordered  a  car." 

"The  impudent  rascal!"  says  Uncle  Kyrle. 
"I'll  send  him  off,  then.  The  idea!" 

"Oh,  but  isn't  it  a  beauty?"  says  Zenobia, 
peekin'  out.  "Let's  see  what  he  says  about 
it  first." 

So  they  go  out  to  the  curb,  while  Uncle  Kyrle 


HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS     245 

demands  violent  of  the  young  chap  in  charge 
what  he  means  by  such  an  outrage.  At  which 
the  party  grins  and  shows  the  tag  on  the  steerin' 
wheel. 

"Why!"  says  Zenobia.  "It  has  my  name  on 
it.  Oh,  Kyrle,  you  dear  man!  I've  a  notion 
to  hug  you." 

"Tut,  tut!"  says  he.  "Such  a  bad  example 
to  set  the  neighbors !  Besides,  this  young  man 
may  object.  He  has  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  certificate 
as  a  first-class  chauffeur." 

That's  the  way  he  springs  on  Aunt  Zenobia 
an  imported  landaulet,  this  year's  model,  all 
complete  even  to  monogrammed  laprobes  and  a 
morocco  vanity  case  in  the  tonneau.  It's  one 
of  these  low-hung  French  cars,  with  an  eight- 
cylinder  motor  that  runs  as  sweet  as  the  purr 
of  a  kitten. 

Then  here  Sunday  noon  he  takes  me  one  side 
confidential.  "Torchy,"  says  he,  "could  you 
assist  a  poor  but  deserving  citizen  to  retain 
the  respect  of  his  chauffeur?" 

"Go  on,  shoot  it,"  says  I. 

"Don't  be  rash,  young  man,"  says  he,  "for 
the  situation  is  desperate.  You  see,  Herman 
seems  to  think  we  ought  to  use  the  machine 
more  than  we  do.  Just  to  please  him  we  have 
been  whirled  through  thousands  of  miles  of  ad- 
jacent suburbs  during  the  last  week.  Still  Her- 
man is  unsatisfied.  Would  it  be  asking  too  much. 


246          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

if  I  requested  you  to  let  him  take  you  out  for 
the  afternoon?" 

I  gives  him  the  grin.  "  Maybe  I  could  stand 
it  for  this  once,"  says  I. 

1  'Noble  youth!"  says  he.  "You  deserve  the 
iron  cross.  And  should  there  be  perchance  any- 
one who  could  be  induced  to  share  your  self- 
sacrifice " 

The  grin  plays  tag  with  my  ears.  "How'd 
you  guess?"  says  I. 

Uncle  Kyrle  winks  and  pikes  off. 

So  about  two-thirty  P.M.  I'm  landed  at  a 
certain  number  on  Madison-ave.  and  runs 
jaunty  up  the  front  steps.  I  was  hopin'  Aunty 
would  either  be  out  or  takin'  her  after-dinner 
nap.  But  when  it  comes  to  forecastin'  her 
moves  you  got  to  figure  on  reverse  English 
nine  cases  out  of  ten.  And  if  ever  you  want 
a  picture  of  bad  luck  to  hang  up  anywhere,  get 
a  portrait  of  Aunty.  Out?  She's  right  on 
hand,  as  stiff  and  sour  as  a  frozen  dill  pickle. 
Her  way  of  greetin'  me  cordial  as  I'm  shown 
into  the  drawin'  room  is  by  humping  her  eye- 
brows and  passin'  me  the  marble  stare. 

"Well,  young  man?"  says  she. 

"Why,"  says  I,  "not  so  well  as  I  was  a  couple 
of  minutes — er — that  it's  a  fine,  spiffy  after- 
noon, ain't  it?" 

"Spiffy!"  says  she,  drawin'  in  her  breath 
menacin'. 


HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS     247 

"Vassarese  for  lovely,"  says  I.  "But  I 
don't  insist  on  the  word.  By  the  way,  is  Miss 
Veein?" 

"She  is,"  says  Aunty.  "This  is  not  Friday, 
evening,  however. ' ' 

/  "Ah,  say!"  says  I.  "Can't  we  suspend  the 
rules  and  regulations  for  once  1  You  see,  I  got 
a  machine  outside  that's  a  reg'lar — well,  it's 
some  car,  believe  me! — and  seein'  how  there 
couldn't  be  a  slicker  day  for  a  spin,  I  didn't 
know  but  what  you'd  let  Vee  off  for  an  hour 
or  so." 

"Just  you  and  Verona?"  demands  Aunty, 
stiff  enin'. 

It  was  some  pill  to  swallow,  but  after  a  few 
uneasy  throat  wiggles  I  got  it  down.  * '  Unless, ' ' 
says  I,  "you — you'd  like  to  go  along  too.  You 
wouldn't,  would  you1?" 

Aunty  indulges  in  one  of  them  tight-lipped 
smiles  of  hers  that's  about  as  merry  as  a  crack 
in  a  vinegar  cruet.  '  *  How  thoughtful  of  you ! ' ' 
says  she.  "However,  I  am  not  fond  of  motor- 
ing." 

I  don't  know  whether  someone  punctured  an 
air  cushion  just  then,  or  whether  it  was  me 
heavin'  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Ain't  you?"  says 
I.  "But  Vee's  strong  for  it,  and  if  you  don't 
mind " 

"My  niece  is  writing  letters,"  says  Aunty, 


248          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"and  asked  not  to  be  disturbed  until  after  five 
o  'clock.  '  ' 

"But  in  this  case,"  I  goes  on,  "maybe  she'd 
sidetrack  the  letters  if  you'd  send  up  word 


"Young  man,"  says  Aunty,  settin'  her  chin 
firm,  "I  think  you  are  quite  aware  of  my  atti- 
tude. Your  persistent  attentions  to  my  niece 
are  wholly  unwelcome.  True,  you  are  no  longer 
a  mere  office  boy;  but  —  well,  just  who  are  you?" 

"Private  sec.  of  Mutual  Funding,"  says  I. 

"And  a  youth  known  as  Torchy?"  she  adds 
sarcastic. 

"Yes;  but  see  here!"  says  I.  "I've  just  dug 
up  a  -  " 

"That  will  do,"  she  breaks  in.  "We  have 
discussed  all  this  before.  And  I've  no  doubt 
you  think  me  simply  a  disagreeable,  crotchety 
old  person.  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  how- 
ever, that  you  may  have  failed  to  get  my  point 
of  view?  Can  you  not  conceive  then  that  it 
might  be  somewhat  humiliating  to  me  to  know 
that  my  maids  suppress  a  smile  as  they  an- 
nounce —  Mr.  Torchy?  Understand,  I  am  not 
censuring  you  for  being  a  nameless  waif.  No, 
do  not  interrupt.  I  realize  that  this  is  some- 
thing for  which  you  should  not  be  held  responsi- 
ble. But  can't  you  see,  young  man  -  " 

"If  I  can't,"  I  cuts  in,  "I  need  an  eye  doc- 
tor bad.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  about  this 


HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS     249 

name  business,  though.  I'm  going  to  issue  a 
white  paper  on  the  subject." 

"A — a  what  I"  says  Aunty. 

"Seein'  you  ain't  much  of  a  listener,"  says 
I,  "I'll  submit  the  case  in  writin'.  You  win 
the  round,  though.  And  if  it  don't  hurt  you 
too  much,  you  might  tell  Vee  I  was  here.  You 
can  use  a  bichloride  of  mercury  mouth  wash 
afterwards,  you  know." 

Saying  which,  I  does  the  young  hero  act, 
swings  proudly  on  muh  heel,  and  exits  left  cen- 
ter, leavin'  Aunty  speechless  in  her  chair. 

So  Herman  and  me  starts  off  all  by  our  lone- 
some, swings  into  the  Grand  Boulevard  and 
out  through  Pelham  Parkway  to  the  Boston 
Post  Koad.  Deep  glooms  for  me!  Even  the 
way  we  breezed  by  speedy  roadsters  don't  bring 
me  any  thrills. 

I  was  still  chewin'  over  that  zippy  roast 
Aunty  had  handed  me.  Nameless  waif,  eh? 
Say,  that's  the  rawest  she'd  ever  stated  it. 
Course  I  was  fixed  now  to  show  her  where  she  'd 
overdone  the  part;  but  somehow  I  couldn't 
seem  to  frame  up  any  way  of  gettin'  my  fam'ly 
tree  on  record  without  seemin'  to  do  it  boast- 
ful. Besides,  Aunty  wouldn't  take  my  word 
for  Uncle  Kyrle  and  all  the  rest.  She'd  want 
an  affidavit,  at  least. 

But  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  have  a  talk 
with  Vee.  I  hadn't  had  more'n  a  glimpse  of 


250          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

her  for  weeks  now,  and  while  I  might  not  feel 
like  givin'  her  complete  details  of  all  that  had 
happened  to  me  recent,  I  thought  I  might 
drop  an  illuminatin'  hint  or  so.  Was  I  goin' 
to  let  a  gimlet-eyed  old  dame  with  an  acetic 
acid  disposition  block  me  off  as  easy  as 
that? 

" Herman,"  says  I,  "you  can  just  drop  me  on 
Madison-ave.  as  we  go  down.  And  you  bet- 
ter report  at  the  house  before  you  put  up  the 
machine.  They  may  want  to  be  goin'  some- 
where." 

I'd  heard  Uncle  Kyrle  speak  of  promisin' 
to  make  a  call  on  someone  he'd  met  lately  that 
he'd  known  abroad.  As  for  me,  I  just  strolls 
up  and  down  two  or  three  blocks,  takin'  a  chance 
that  Vee  might  drift  out.  But  I  sticks  around 
near  an  hour  without  any  luck. 

"Huh!"  says  I  to  myself  at  last.  "Might 
as  well  risk  it  again,  and  if  I  can't  run  the 
gate — well,  swappin'  a  few  more  plain  words 
with  Aunty '11  relieve  my  feelin's  some,  any- 
way. ' ' 

With  that  I  marches  up  bold  and  presses  the 
button.  "Say,"  says  I  to  the  maid,  "don't 
tell  me  Aunty's  gone  out  since  I  left!" 

Selma  shakes  her  head  solemn  as  her  mighty 
Swedish  intellect  struggles  to  surround  the  situ- 
ation. "Meesis  she  dress  by  supper  in  den 
room  yet,"  says  she. 


HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS    251 

"Such  sadness!"  says  I.  "Maybe  there's 
nobody  but  Miss  Vee  downstairs ! ' ' 

"Ja,"  says  Selma,  starin'  stupid.  "Not  no- 
body else  but  Miss  Verona,  no." 

* '  You  're  a  bright  girl — from  the  feet  down, ' ' 
says  I,  pushin'  in  past  her.  "Shut  the  door 
easy  so  as  not  to  disturb  Aunty,  and  I'll  try 
to  cheer  up  Miss  Verona  until  she  comes  down. 
She's  in  the  lib'ry,  eh?" 

Yep,  I  was  doin'  my  best.  We'd  exchanged 
the  greetin's  of  the  season  and  was  camped 
cozy  in  a  corner  davenport  just  big  enough  for 
two,  while  I  was  explainin'  how  tough  it  was 
not  havin'  her  along  for  the  drive,  and  I'd  col- 
lected one  of  her  hands  casual,  pattin'  it  sort 
of  absent-minded,  when — say,  no  trained  blood- 
hound has  anything  on  Aunty!  There  she  is, 
standin'  rigid  between  the  double  doors  glarin' 
at  us  accusin'. 

"So  you  returned  after  all  that,  did  you?" 
she  demands. 

"I  didn't  know  but  you  might  want  to  tack 
on  a  postscript,"  says  I. 

"Young  man,"  says  she,  just  as  friendly  as 
a  Special  Sessions  Judge  callin'  the  prisoner 
to  the  bar,  "you  are  quite  right.  And  I  wish 
to  say  to  you  now,  in  the  presence  of  my  niece, 
that " 

"Now,  Aunty!  Please!"  breaks  in  Verona, 
shruggin'  her  shoulders  expressive. 


252          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

''Verona,  kindly  be  silent,"  goes  on  Aunty. 
"This  young  person  known  as  Torchy  has " 

When  in  drii?ts  Selma  and  sticks  out  the  sil- 
ver card  plate  like  she  was  presentin'  arms. 

"What  is  it?"  asks  Aunty.  "Oh!"  Then 
she  inspects  the  names. 

For  half  a  minute  she  stands  there,  glancin' 
from  me  to  the  cards  undecided,  and  I  expect 
if  she  could  have  electrocuted  me  with  a  look 
I'd  have  sizzled  once  or  twice  and  then  disap- 
peared in  a  puff  of  smoke.  But  her  voltage 
wa'n't  quite  high  enough  for  that.  Instead  she 
turns  to  Selma  and  gives  some  quick  orders. 

"Draw  these  draperies,"  says  she;  "then 
show  in  the  guests.  As  for  you,  young  man, 
wait!" 

"Gee!"  I  whispers,  as  we're  shut  in.  "I 
wish  I  knew  how  to  draw  up  a  will. ' ' 

Vee  snickers.  "Silly!"  says  she.  "What- 
ever have  you  been  saying  to  Aunty  now?" 

"Me?"  says  I.  "Why,  not  much.  Just  a 
little  chat  about  fam'ly  trees  and  so  on,  durin' 
which  she " 

Then  the  arrival  chatter  in  the  next  room 
breaks  loose,  and  I  stops  sudden,  starin'  at  the 
closed  portieres  with  my  mouth  open. 

1 1  Hello ! ' '  says  I.    ' '  Listen  who 's  here ! ' ' 

"Who?"  says  Vee. 

"That's  so,"  says  I.  "You  don't  know  'em, 
do  you?  Well,  this  adds  thickenin'  to  the  plot 


HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS    253 

for  fair.  Remember  hearin'  me  tell  of  Aunt 
Zenobia  and  her  new  hubby?  Well,  that's 
'em." 

"How  odd!"  says  Vee.  "But — why,  I've 
heard  his  voice  before !  It  was  at — oh,  I  know ! 
The  nice  old  gentleman  who  had  the  villa  next 
to  ours  at  Mentone." 

"Ballard?"  I  suggests. 

"That's  it!"  says  Vee.  "And  you  say  he 
is " 

"My  Uncle  Kyrle,"  says  I.  "My  reg'lar 
uncle,  you  know." 

"Why,  Torchy!"  gasps  Vee,  grabbin'  me  by 
the  arm.  "Then — then  you " 

"Listen!"  says  I.  "Hear  your  Aunty  usin' 
her  comp'ny  voice.  My!  ain't  she  the  gentle, 
cooin'  dove,  though?  Now  they're  gettin'  ac- 
quainted. So  this  was  where  Uncle  Kyrle  spoke 
of  callin'!  Hot  time  he  picked  out  for  it, 
didn't  he,  with  me  here  in  the  condemned  cell? 
Say,  what  do  you  know  about  that,  eh?" 

Vee  smothers  another  giggle,  and  slips  one 
of  her  hands  into  mine.  "Don't  you  care!" 
says  she,  whisperin'.  "And  isn't  it  thrilling? 
But  what  shall  we  do?" 

"It's  by  me,"  says  I.  "Aunty  told  me  to 
wait,  didn  't  she  ?  Well,  let 's. " 

Which  we  done,  sittin'  there  sociable,  and 
every  now  and  then  swappin '  smiles  as  the  con- 
versation in  the  next  room  took  a  new  turn. 


254          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Fin'lly  Uncle  Kyrle  remarks :  "  You  had  your 
little  niece  with  you  then,  didn't  you?" 

" Little  Verona?  Oh,  yes,"  says  Aunty. 
"She  is  still  with  me.  Rather  grown  up  now, 
though.  I  must  send  for  her.  Pardon  me." 
And  she  rings  for  Selma. 

Well,  that  queers  the  game  entirely.  Two 
minutes  more,  and  Vee  has  been  towed  in  -for 
inspection  and  I'm  left  alone  in  banishment. 

"Well,  well!"  I  can  hear  Uncle  Kyrle  sing 
out.  "Why,  young  lady,  what  right  had  you 
to  change  from  a  tow-headed  schoolgirl  into 
such  a — Zenobia,  please  face  the  other  way  and 
don't  listen,  while  I  try  to  tell  this  radiant 
young  person  how  utterly  charming  she  has  be- 
come. No,  I  can't  begin  to  do  the  subject  jus- 
tice. Twenty  or  thirty  years  ago  I  might  have 
had  some  success.  Ah,  me!  Those  gray  eyes 
of  yours,  my  dear,  hold  mischief  enough  to 
wreck  a  convention  of  saints.  Ah,  blushing,  are 
you?  Forgive  me.  I  ought  to  know  better. 
Let  me  tell  you,  though,  I've  a  young  nephew 
with  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  that  might  be  a  match 
for  your  gray  ones.  You  must  allow  me  to 
bring  him  up  some  day." 

And  I'd  like  to  have  had  a  glimpse  of  Vee's 
face  just  then.  About  there,  though,  Aunty 
breaks  in. 

"A  nephew,  Mr.  Ballard?"  says  she. 

"Poor  Dick's  boy,"  says  he.    "The  one  we 


HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS    255 

hunted  all  over  the  States  for  after  Dick  took 
him  on  that  wild  goose  chase  from  which  he 
never  came  back.  Let's  see,  you  must  have 
known  the  youngster's  mother, — Irene  Bal- 
lard." 

"That  stunning  young  woman  with  the 
copper-red  hair  whom  you  introduced  at 
Palermo?"  asks  Aunty.  "Is — is  she " 

'  *  No, ' '  says  Uncle  Kyrle.  '  *  Poor  Irene !  She 
was  always  doing  something  for  someone,  you 
know,  and  when  this  big  war  got  under  way — 
well,  she  went  to  the  front  at  the  first  call  from 
the  Eed  Cross.  I  might  have  known  she  would. 
I  suppose  she  simply  couldn't  bear  to  keep  out 
of  it — all  that  suffering,  and  so  much  help 
needed.  No  more  skillful  or  efficient  hands  than 
hers,  I'll  wager,  Madam,  were  ever  volunteered, 
nor  any  braver  soul.  She  was  pure  gold, 
Irene. ' ' 

"And,"  puts  in  Aunty,  "she  was — er " 

Uncle  Kyrle  nods.  "In  a  field  hospital,  un- 
der fire,"  says  he,  "late  last  September. 
That's  all  we  know.  Where  do  you  think, 
though,  I  ran  across  that  boy  of  hers?  Found 
him  at  Zenobia's;  found  them  both  rather,  at 
a  theater.  Sheer  luck.  For  if  you'll  pardon 
my  saying  it,  that  youth  is  a  nephew  I'm  going 
to  be  proud  of  some  of  these  days  unless  I 
am " 

Say,  this  was  gettin'  a  little  too  personal  for 


256          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

me.  I'd  been  shiftin'  around  uneasy  for  a  min- 
ute or  two,  and  about  then  I  decided  it  wouldn't 
be  polite  to  listen  any  longer.  So  I  make  a 
dash  out  the  side  door  into  the  hall,  not  knowin' 
just  what  to  do  or  where  to  go.  And  I  bumps 
into  Selma  wheelin'  in  the  tea  wagon.  That 
gives  me  a  hunch. 

"Say,  Bright  Eyes,"  says  I,  pushin'  a  dollar 
at  her,  "take  this  and  ditch  that  tea  stuff  for 
a  minute,  can't  you?  Harken!  There's  goin' 
to  be  a  new  arrival  at  the  front  door  in  about 
a  minute,  and  you  must  answer  the  bell.  No, 
don't  indulge  in  that  open-face  movement.  Just 
watch  me  close!" 

With  that  I  clips  past  the  drawin'-room 
entrance,  opens  the  front  door  gentle,  and  gives 
the  button  a  good  long  push.  Then  I  slides 
back  and  digs  up  a  card  case  that  Aunt  Zenobia 
has  presented  me  with  only  a  couple  of  days 
ago. 

"Here!"  says  I.  "Get  out  your  plate  and 
pass  one  of  these  to  the  Missus.  That's  it. 
Push  it  right  on  her  conspicuous.  Now!  On 
your  way!" 

She's  real  quick  at  startin',  Selma  is,  when 
she's  shoved  brisk  from  behind.  And  as  she 
goes  through  the  doorway  I  stretches  my  ear 
to  hear  what  Aunty  will  say  to  the  new  arrival. 
And,  believe  me,  if  I'd  given  her  the  lines  my- 
self, she  couldn't  have  done  it  better! 


HOW  AUNTY  GOT  THE  NEWS    257 

"Mr.  Richard  Taber  Ballard?"  says  she, 
readin'  the  card.  Then  she  turns  to  Uncle 
Kyrle.  "Why,  this  must  be  some " 

"Eh?"  says  he.  "Did  you  hear  that,  Zeno- 
bia?  Torchy,  you  young  rascal,  come  in  here 
and  explain  yourself!" 

' '  Torchy ! ' '  gasps  Aunty.  ' '  Did — did  you  say 
—Torchy?" 

"Anybody  callin'  for  me?"  says  I,  steppin' 
into  the  room  with  a  grin  on. 

And  to  watch  that  stary  look  settle  in  Aunty's 
eyes,  and  see  the  purple  tint  spread  back  to  her 
ears,  was  worth  standin'  for  all  the  rough  deals 
I'd  ever  had  from  her.  At  last  I  had  her 
bump  in'  the  bumps !  Sort  of  dazed  she  inspects 
the  card  once  more,  and  then  glances  at  me.  Do 
you  wonder?  Richard  Taber  Ballard!  I  ain't 
got  used  to  it  myself. 

"Here  he  is,"  says  Uncle  Kyrle  jovial,  drag- 
gin'  me  to  the  front,  "that  scamp  nephew  I 
was  telling  you  about.  The  Richard  is  for  his 
father,  you  know;  the  Taber  he  gets  from  his 
mother — also  his  red  hair.  Eh,  Torchy?  And 
this,  young  man,  is  Miss  Verona." 

He  swings  me  around  facin'  her,  and  I  ex- 
pect I  must  have  acted  some  sheepish.  But 
trust  Vee !  What  does  she  do  but  let  loose  one 
of  them  ripply  laughs  of  hers.  Then  she  steps 
up,  pulls  my  head  down  playful  with  both  hands, 
and  looks  me  square  in  the  eyes. 


258          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before,  Torchy," 
says  she,  * '  that  you  had  such  a  perfectly  grand 
name  as  all  that?" 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "A  swell  chance  I've  had 
to  tell  you  anything,  ain't  I?  But  if  the  folks 
will  excuse  us  for  half  an  hour,  I'll  tell  you  all 
I  know  about  a  lot  of  things." 

And,  say,  Aunty  don't  even  glare  after  us  as 
we  slips  through  the  draperies  into  the  lib'ry, 
leavin'  'em  to  explain  to  each  other  how  I  come 
to  be  on  hand  so  accidental.  The  only  disturb- 
ance comes  when  Selma  butts  in  pushin'  the 
tea  cart,  and,  just  from  force  of  habit,  I  makes 
a  panicky  breakaway.  After  she's  insisted  on 
loadin'  us  up  with  sandwiches  and  so  forth, 
though,  I  slips  my  arm  back  where  it  fits  the 
snuggest. 

"Now,  Sir,"  says  Vee,  "how  are  you  going 
to  hold  your  cup?" 

"I'd  be  willin'  to  miss  out  on  tea  forever," 
says  I,  "for  a  chance  like  this." 


CHAPTEE  XV 

MB.  EOBEKT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY 

WE  was  havin'  a  directors'  meetin'.  Get 
that,  do  you!  We,  you  know!  For  nowadays, 
as  private  sec.  and  actin'  head  of  Mutual  Fund- 
ing, I  crashes  into  all  sorts  of  confidential  pow- 
wows. Uh-huh!  Right  in  where  they  put  a 
crimp  in  the  surplus  and  make  plots  to  slip 
things  over  on  the  Commerce  Board!  Oh  my, 
yes!  I'm  gettin'  almost  respectable  enough  to 
be  indicted. 

Well,  we'd  just  pared  the  dividend  on  com- 
mon and  was  about  breakin'  up  the  session  when 
Mr.  Robert  misses  some  figures  on  export  clear- 
ances he'd  had  made  up  and  was  pawin'  about 
on  the  table  aimless. 

" Didn't  I  see  you  stowin'  that  away  in  one  of 
your  desk  pigeonholes  yesterday?"  I  suggests. 

"By  George!"  says  he.  "Think  you  could 
find  it  for  me,  Torchy?  And,  by  the  way,  bring 
along  my  cigarettes  too.  You  will  find  them  in 
a  leather  case  somewhere  about." 

I  locates  the  export  notes  first  stab;  but  the 
dope  sticks  ain't  in  sight.  I  claws  through  the 
whole  top  of  the  desk  before  I  fin'lly  discovers, 

259 


260          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

shoved  clear  into  a  corner,  a  thin  old  blue  mo- 
rocco affair  with  a  gold  catch.  By  the  time  I 
gets  back  he's  smokin'  a  borrowed  brand  and 
tosses  the  case  one  side. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  meetin'  is  over.  Mr. 
Robert  sighs  relieved,  bunches  up  a  lot  of  pa- 
pers in  front  of  him,  and  begins  feelin'  absent- 
minded  in  his  pockets.  Seein'  which  I  pushes 
the  leather  case  at  him. 

"Ah,  yes,  thanks,"  says  he,  and  snaps  it  open 
careless. 

But  no  neat  little  row  of  paper  pipes  shows 
up.  Inside  is  nothing  but  a  picture,  one  of 
these  dinky  portraits  on  ivory — mini'tures, 
ain't  they?  It  shows  a  young  lady  with  a  perky 
chin  and  kind  of  a  quizzin'  look  in  her  eyes: 
not  a  reg'lar  front  row  pippin',  you  know,  but 
a  fairly  good  looker  of  the  highbrow  type. 

For  a  second  Mr.  Robert  stares  at  the  por- 
trait foolish,  and  then  he  glances  up  quick  to  see 
if  I'm  watchin'.  As  it  happens,  I  am,  and 
blamed  if  he  don 't  tint  up  over  it ! 

' '  Excuse, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Only  leather  case  I  could 
find.  Besides,  I  didn't  know  you  had  any  such 
souvenirs  as  this  on  your  desk." 

He  chuckles  throaty.  "Nor  I,"  says  he. 
'  *  That  is,  I  'd  almost  forgotten.  You  see ' ' 

"I  see,"  says  I.  "She's  one  of  the  discards, 
eh?" 

Sort  of  jolts  him,  that  does.    "Eh?"  says  he. 


EGBERT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY     261 

"A  discard?  No,  no!  I — er — I  suppose,  if  I 
must  confess,  Torchy,  that  I  am  one  of  hers." 

"Gwan!"  says  I.  "You?  Look  like  a  dis- 
card, don't  you?  Tush,  tush!" 

The  idea  of  him  tryin'  to  feed  that  to  me! 
"Why,  say,  I  expect  there  ain't  half  a  dozen 
bachelors  in  town  that's  rated  any  higher  on 
the  eligible  list  than  Mr.  Bob  Ellins.  It's  no 
dark  secret,  either.  I've  heard  of  whole  sum- 
mer campaigns  bein'  planned  just  to  land  Mr. 
Robert,  of  house  parties  made  up  special  to 
give  some  fair  young  queen  a  chance  at  him, 
and  of  one  enterprisin'  young  widow  that  chased 
him  up  for  two  seasons  before  she  quit. 

How  he's  been  able  to  dodge  the  net  so  long 
has  puzzled  more  than  me,  and  up  to  date  I'd 
never  had  a  hint  that  there  was  such  a  thing 
for  him  as  a  certain  party.  So  I  expect  I  was 
gawpin'  some  curious  at  the  picture. 

'  *  Huh ! ' '  says  I,  but  more  or  less  to  myself. 

"Not  intending  any  adverse  criticism  of  the 
young  lady,  I  trust  ? ' '  remarks  Mr.  Robert. 

* '  Far  be  it  from  me ! "  says  I.  ' '  Only — well, 
maybe. the  paintin'  don't  do  her  justice." 

"Rather  discreetly  phrased,  that,"  says  he, 
chucklin'  quiet.  "Thank  you,  Torchy.  And 
you  are  quite  right.  No  mere  painter  ever  could 
do  her  full  justice.  While  the  likeness  is  ex- 
cellent, the  flesh  tones  much  as  I  remember 
them,  yet  I  fancy  a  great  deal  has  escaped  the 


262          TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

brush, — the  queer,  quirky  little  smile,  for  in- 
stance, that  used  to  come  at  times  in  the  mouth, 
corners,  a  quick  tilting  of  the  chin  as  she  talked, 
and  that  trick  of  widening  the  eyes  as  she 
looked  at  you.  China  blue,  I  think  her  eyes 
would  be  called ;  rather  unusual  eyes,  in  fact. ' ' 

He  seems  to  be  enjoyin'  the  monologue;  so 
I  don't  break  in,  but  just  stands  there  while 
he  gazes  at  the  picture  and  holds  forth  en- 
thusiastic. Even  after  he 's  finished  he  still  sits 
there  starin'. 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "It  ain't  a  hopeless  case,  is 
it,  Mr.  Robert?" 

Which  brings  him  out  of  his  spell.  He 
shrugs  his  shoulders,  indulges  in  an  uncon- 
vincin'  little  laugh,  snaps  the  case  shut,  and 
then  tosses  it  careless  down  onto  the  table. 

"Perhaps  you  failed  to  notice  the  dust,"  says 
he.  "The  back  part  of  the  bottom  drawer  is 
where  that  belongs,  Torchy — or  in  the  waste 
basket.  It's  quite  hopeless,  you  see." 

"Huh!"  says  I  as  I  turns  to  go.  And  this 
time  I  meant  to  get  it  across  to  him. 

Honest,  I  couldn't  figure  why  a  headliner  like 
,  Mr.  Eobert,  with  all  his  good  bank  ratin',  good 
'fam'ly,  and  good  looks  to  back  him,  should  get 
the  gate  on  any  kind  of  a  matrimonial  propo- 
sition, unless  it  was  a  case  of  coppin'  a  Princess 
of  royal  blood,  and  even  then  I'd  back  him  to 
show  in  the  runnin '.  Who  was  this  finicky  party 


EGBERT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY     263 

with  the  willow-ware  eyes,  anyway?  Queen  of 
what!  Or  was  it  wings  she  was  demandin'? 

Say,  I  most  got  peeved  with  this  unknown 
that  had  ditched  Mr.  Robert  so  hard.  All  that 
evenin'  I  mulls  over  it,  wonderin'  how  long 
ago  it  had  happened  and  if  that  accounted  for 
him  bein'  so  cagy  in  makin'  social  dates.  Not 
that  he 's  what  you  'd  call  skirt-shy  exactly ;  but 
I've  noticed  that  he's  always  cautious  about 
bein'  backed  into  a  corner  or  paired  off  with 
any  special  one. 

Course,  not  knowin'  the  details  of  the 
tragedy,  it  wa'n't  much  use  speculatin'.  And 
somehow  I  didn't  feel  like  askin'  for  the  whole 
story  right  out.  You  know — there 's  times  when 
you  just  can't.  I  ain't  any  more  curious  than 
usual  over  this  special  case,  either;  but,  seein' 
how  many  good  turns  Mr.  Robert's  done  for 
me  along  the  only-girl  line,  I  got  to  wishin' 
there  was  some  way  I  could  sort  of  balance  the 
account. 

So  when  I  stumbles  across  this  concert  folder 
it  almost  looks  like  a  special  act,  with  the  arrow 
pointin'  my  way.  I  was  payin'  my  reg'lar  offi- 
cial Friday  evenin'  call.  No,  nbthin'  romantic. 
Just  because  Aunty's  mellowed  up  a  bit  since 
I'm  announced  proper  by  the  front  door  help 
as  Mr.  Ballard,  don't  get  tangled  up  with  the 
idea  that  she  stands  for  any  dark  corner  two- 
sin'.  Nothin'  like  that!  All  the  lights  are  on 


264          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

full  blast,  Aunty's  right  there  prominent  with 
her  crochet,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  table 
is  me  and  Vee.  And  I  couldn't  be  behavin' 
more  innocent  if  I'd  been  roped  to  the  chair. 
All  I  was  holdin'  was  a  skein  of  yarn.  Uh-huh ! 
You  see,  Vee  got  the  knittin'  habit  last  winter, 
turnin'  out  stuff  for  the  Belgians,  and  now  she 
keeps  right  on;  though  who  she's  goin'  to  wish 
a  pink  and  white  shawl  onto  in  this  weather  is 
a  myst'ry. 

"It's  for  a  sufferer — isn't  that  enough?" 
says  she. 

"From  what — chilblains  on  the  ears!" 
says  I. 

"Silly!"  says  she.  "There!  Didn't  I  tell 
you  to  bend  your  thumbs  ?  How  awkward ! ' ' 

"Who,  me?"  says  I.  "Why,  for  a  first  at- 
tempt I  thought  I  was  puttin'  up  a  real  classy 
performance.  Say,  lemme  wind  awhile,  and 
let's  see  you  try  this  yarn-jugglin'  act." 

She  won't,  though;  so  it's  me  sittin'  there 
playin'  dummy,  with  my  arms  held  out  stiff  and 
my  eyes  roamin'  around  restless. 

Which  is  how  I  happen  to  spot  this  folder 
with  the  halftone  cut  on  it.  ItTs  been  tossed 
casual  on  the  ta~ble,  and  the  picture  is  wrong 
side  to  from  where  I  am ;  but  even  then  there 's 
something  mighty  familiar  about  it.  I  wiggles 
around  to  get  a  better  view,  and  lets  half  a 
dozen  loops  of  yarn  slip  off  at  a  time. 


EGBERT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY     265 

"Stupid!"  says  Vee,  runnin'  her  tongue  out 
at  me. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  you'd  do  better  by  drapin' 
it  over  a  chair  back!"  says  I.  "But  say,  time 
out  while  I  snoop  into  something.  Who's  the 
girl  with  the  press  notice  stuff?"  and  I  points 
an  elbow  at  the  halftone. 

*  *  That  1 ' '  says  she.  * '  Oh,  some  concert  singer, 
I  think.  Let's  see.  Yes — Miss  Elsa  Hampton. 
She's  to  give  a  benefit  song  recital  in  the  Plu- 
toria  pink  room  for  the  Belgian  war  orphans, 
tickets  two  dollars.  Want  to  go?"  And  Vee 
flips  the  folder  into  my  lap. 

Gettin'  the  picture  right  side  to,  I  lets  out 
a  whistle.  No  mistakin'  that.  "Sure  I  want 
to  go,"  says  I. 

"Why?"  says  Vee. 

"Well,  for  one  thing,"  says  I,  "she  has  china 
blue  eyes  that  widen  out  when  they  look  at  you, 
and  a  queer,  quirky  little  smile  that " 

"How  thrilling!"  says  Vee.  "You  must 
know  her  very  well. ' ' 

"Almost  that,"  says  I.  "Anyway,  I  know 
someone  that  did  know  her  very  well — once." 

"Oh!"  says  Vee,  forgettin'  all  about  the  yarn 
windin'  and  hitchin'  her  chair  up  close.  "That 
does  sound  interesting.  I  hope  it  isn't  a  deep 
secret." 

"If  it  wa'n't,"  says  I,  "what  would  be  the 
fun  in  tellin'  it  to  you?" 


266  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

" Goody!"  says  Vee.  "Who  is  the  poor  man 
who  knew  her  once  but  doesn  't  any  more  ? ' ' 

1 « Whisper ! ' '  says  I.    "It 's  Mr.  Bob  Ellins ! ' ' 

"Wha-a-at!"  gasps  Vee.  "Do  you  really 
mean  it!" 

I'd  pulled  a  sensation,  all  right,  and  for  the 
next  half-hour  she  keeps  me  busy  tryin'  to  ex- 
plain the  details  of  a  situation  I  hadn't  more'n 
half  sketched  out  myself. 

"Kept  a  miniature  of  her  on  his  desk!"  Vee 
rattles  on.  "And  it  hadn't  been  opened  for 
ever  so  long,  you  say?  What  makes  you  think 
it  hadn't?" 

"Dusty,"  says  I. 

"Oh!"  says  Vee.  "Just  fancy!  And  she 
must  have  given  it  to  him  herself — an  ivory 
miniature,  you  know.  Was — was  there  another 
man,  do  you  think,  or  just  some  silly  misunder- 
standing? I  wonder?" 

"I  hadn't  got  in  that  deep,"  says  I. 

"But  suppose  it  was,"  says  Vee,  "only  a  mis- 
understanding, wouldn't  it  be  lovely  if  we  could 
find  some  way  of — of — well,  why  don't  you  sug- 
gest something?" 

Did  I?  Say,  we  was  plottin'  so  lively  there 
for  a  spell,  with  our  heads  close  together,  that 
I  can't  tell  for  a  fact  which  it  was  did  get  the 
idea  first. 

But,  anyway,  when  I'm  busy  at  the  Corru- 
gated next  mornin',  openin'  the  first  batch  of 


"HE  SEEMS  TO  BE  ENJOYING  THE  MONOLOGUE;   SO  I  JUST  STANDS  THERE 
WHILE  HE  GAZES  AT  THE  PICTURE  AND  HOLDS  FORTH  ENTHUSIASTIC." 

262 


ROBERT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY     267 

mail  and  sortin'  the  junk  from  the  important 
letters,  I  laid  the  mine.  All  I  had  to  do  was 
pick  out  an  envelope  postmarked  Madison 
Square,  ditch  the  art  dealers'  card  that  came 
in  it,  and  substitute  this  song  recital  folder, 
opened  so  the  picture  couldn't  be  missed.  And 
when  I  stacks  the  letters  on  Mr.  Robert's  desk 
I  tucks  that  one  in  second  from  the  top.  Some 
grand  little  strategy  that,  eh? 

Then  I  keeps  my  ear  stretched  for  any  re- 
marks Mr.  Robert  may  unload  when  he  makes 
the  great  discovery.  But,  say,  when  you  try 
dopin'  out  such  a  complicated  party  as  Mr.  Bob 
Ellins  you've  tackled  some  deep  proposition. 
Nothin'  emotional  about  him,  and  although  I'm 
sittin'  only  a  dozen  feet  off,  half  facin'  his  way 
too,  I  don't  get  even  the  hint  of  a  smothered 
gasp.  Couldn't  even  tell  whether  he'd  seen 
the  picture  or  not,  and  by  the  time  I  works  up 
an  excuse  to  drift  over  by  his  elbow  he's  half- 
way through  the  pile. 

"Nothin'  startlin'  in  the  mornin'  run,  eh?"  I 
throws  out. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  he.  "Mallory  reports  that 
those  St.  Louis  people  have  applied  for  an- 
other injunction.  Ring  up  Bates,  will  you,  and 
have  him  call  a  general  council  of  our  legal  staff 
for  two-thirty?" 

"Right,"  says  I.  "Er — anything  else,  Mr. 
Robert?" 


268          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

He  simply  shakes  his  head  and  dives  into  an- 
other letter.  At  that,  though,  I  was  lookin'  for 
him  to  sound  me  out  sooner  or  later  on  the  pic- 
ture business ;  but  the  forenoon  breezes  by  with- 
out a  word.  By  lunchtime  I'm  more  twisted 
than  ever.  Had  he  glanced  at  the  halftone  with- 
out recognizin'  her?  Or  was  he  just  Ifeepin' 
mum?  Not  until  I  gets  a  chance  to  explore  the 
waste  basket  did  I  get  any  line.  The  folder 
wa'n't  there.  Neither  was  it  on  his  desk.  And 
all  the  hints  I  threw  out  durin'  the  day  he  don't 
seem  to  notice  at  all.  So  I  didn't  have  much 
to  tell  Vee  over  the  'phone  that  night. 

"Couldn't  get  a  rise  out  of  him  at  all," 
says  I. 

"But  you're  certain  Miss  Hampton  is  the 
one,  are  you?"  says  she. 

"If  she  wa'n't,"  says  I,  "why  should  he 
keep  the  folder  ? ' ' 

"That's  so,"  says  Vee.  "Then— then  shall 
we  do  it?" 

"  I  'm  game  if  you  are, ' '  says  I. 

"All  right,"  says  she,  and  I  hears  one  of 
them  ripplin'  laughs  of  hers  comin'  over  the 
wire.  "It's  to-morrow  at  half  after  three,  you 
know. ' ' 

"I'll  be  on  hand,"  says  I. 

And,  believe  me,  when  I  gets  there  and  sees 
the  swell  mob  collectin'  in  the  pink  ballroom, 
I'm  some  pleased  with  myself  for  gettin'  that 


EGBERT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY  269 

hunch  to  doll  up  in  my  frock  coat  and  lavender 
tie.  It's  mostly  a  fluff  audience;  but  there's 
enough  of  a  sprinklin'  of  Johnnies  and  old 
sports  so  I  don't  feel  too  conspicuous. 

Course  I  wa'n't  lookin'  forward  to  any  treat. 
I  ain't  so  strong  for  this  recital  stuff  as  a  rule; 
but  I  was  anxious  to  size  up  the  young  lady 
who'd  thrown  the  harpoon  into  Mr.  Robert 
so  hard.  Same  way  with  Vee.  So  we  edges 
through  to  a  front  seat  and  waits  expectant. 

And,  say,  what  fin'lly  glides  out  on  the  stage 
and  bows  offhand  to  the  soft  patter  of  kid 
gloves  is  only  an  average  looker.  She 's  simple 
dressed  and  simple  actin'.  No  frills  about  Miss 
Hampton  at  all.  Why,  you  might  easy  mistake 
her  for  one  of  the  girl  ushers ! 

"Pooh!"  says  Vee. 

"Also  pooh  for  me,"  says  I. 

More  or  less  easy  and  graceful  in  her  mo- 
tions Miss  Hampton  is,  though,  I  got  to  admit, 
as  she  stands  there  chattin'  with  the  accom- 
panist and  lettin'  them  big  blue  eyes  of  hers 
rove  careless  over  the  crowd  in  front.  They 
ain't  the  stary,  baby  blue  sort,  you  know.  China 
blue  describes  'em  best,  I  guess ;  and  they're  the 
calm,  steady  kind  that  it's  sort  of  restful  and 
fascinatin'  to  watch. 

Almost  before  we  know  it  she's  stepped  to 
the  front  and  started  in  on  the  programme. 
Italian  folk  songs  is  what  is  down  on  the  card, 


270          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

and  she  leads  off  with  that  swingin'  rollickin' 
piece,  " Santa  Lucia."  You've  heard  it,  eh? 
That's  some  song,  ain't  it? 

But,  say,  I  never  knew  how  much  snap  and 
go  there  was  to  it  until  I  heard  Miss  Hampton 
trill  it  out.  Why,  she  just  tosses  up  that  perky 
chin  of  hers  and  turns  loose  the  catchy  melody 
until  you  felt  the  warm  waves  splashin'  and 
saw  the  moonlight  dancin'  across  the  bay!  I 
don't  know  where  or  what  this  Santa  Lucia 
thing  is,  but  she  most  made  me  homesick  to  go 
back  there.  Honest!  And  if  you  think  a  set 
of  odd-shaded  blue  eyes  can't  light  up  and  spar- 
kle with  diff 'rent  expressions,  you  should  have 
seen  hers.  When  she  finishes  and  springs  that 
folksy,  chummy  sort  of  smile — well,  take  it 
from  me,  the  hand  she  gets  ain't  any  polite, 
halfway,  for-charity's-sake  applause.  They 
just  went  to  it  strong,  gloves  or  no  gloves. 

11  Isn't  she  bully?"  whispers  Vee. 

' '  Uh-huh ! ' '  says  I.  *  *  We  take  back  the  pooh- 
poohs,  eh?" 

The  next  number  was  diff 'rent,  but  just  as 
good.  At  the  finish  of  the  fourth  a  wide  old 
dame  in  the  middle  row  unpins  a  cluster  of 
orchids  from  her  belt  and  aims  'em  enthusias- 
tic at  the  stage.  Course  they  swats  a  dignified 
old  boy  three  seats  beyond  me  back  of  the  ear ; 
but  that  starts  the  floral  offerings.  I  gets  a 
quick  nudge  from  Vee. 


EGBERT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY  271 

"Go  on,  Torchy,"  she  whispers.  "Do  it 
now ! ' ' 

We  hadn't  been  sure  first  off  that  we'd  have 
the  nerve  to  carry  the  thing  that  far ;  but  we  'd 
come  all  primed.  So  I  yanks  the  tissue  paper 
off  a  dozen  long-stemmed  American  beauts  that 
I'd  smuggled  in  under  my  coat,  Vee  ties  on  the 
card,  and  I  tosses  the  bunch  so  accurate  it  lands 
almost  on  Miss  Hampton's  toes. 

Course  any  paid  performer  would  have  been 
tickled  to  death  to  have  a  crowd  break  loose 
like  that;  but  Miss  Hampton  acts  a  bit  dazed 
by  it  all.  For  a  second  or  so  she  stands  there 
gazin'  sort  of  puzzled,  bitin'  her  upper  lip. 
Then  she  springs  that  quirky,  good-natured 
smile  of  hers,  bows  a  couple  of  times,  and  pro- 
ceeds to  help  the  accompanist  gather  up  the 
flowers  and  stack  'em  on  the  piano. 

When  she  comes  to  our  big  bunch  she  swoops 
it  up  graceful,  and  is  about  to  pile  it  with  the 
rest  when  her  eyes  must  have  caught  the 
card.  Just  as  easy  and  natural  as  if  she'd 
been  at  home,  she  turns  it  over  and  reads  the 
name. 

And,  say,  for  a  minute  there  I  thought  we 
had  bust  up  the  show.  Talk  about  goin'  pink! 
Why,  you  could  see  the  strawb'rry  tint  spread 
over  her  cheeks  and  up  into  her  ears !  Blamed 
if  her  eyes  don't  moisten  up  too,  and  she  sweeps 
over  the  audience  with  a  quick  nervous  glance, 


272          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

like  she  was  tryin'  to  single  someone  out!  She 
don't  seem  to  know  what  to  do  next.  Once  she 
turns  as  if  she  meant  to  beat  it  into  the  wings ; 
but  as  the  applause  simmers  down  the  pianist 
strikes  up  the  beginning  of  an  encore.  So  she 
had  to  stick  it  out. 

Her  voice  is  more  or  less  shaky  at  the  start ; 
but  pretty  soon  she  strikes  her  gait  again  and 
sings  the  last  verse  better  than  she  had  before. 
Then  comes  an  intermission,  and  when  Miss 
Hampton  appears  again  she's  wearin'  that 
whole  dozen  roses  pinned  over  her  heart.  Vee 
nudges  me  excited  when  she  spots  it. 

"See,  Torchy?"  says  she. 

"Guess  we've  started  something,  eh?"  says  I. 

Just  what  it  was,  though,  we  didn't  know. 
I  didn't  get  cold  feet  either,  until  the  concert 
is  all  over  and  the  folks  begun  swarmin'  around 
the  stage  to  pass  over  the  hot-air  congratula- 
tions. 

But  Miss  Hampton  wa'n't  content  to  stand 
there  quiet  and  take  'em.  She  seems  to  have 
something  on  her  mind,  and  the  next  thing  I 
knew  she  was  pikin'  down  the  steps  right  to- 
wards the  middle  aisle. 

"Gee!"  says  I,  grabbin'  Vee  by  the  arm. 
"Maybe  she  saw  who  passed  'em  up.  Let's  do 
the  quick  exit." 

We  was  gettin'  away  as  fast  as  we  could  too, 
squirmin'  through  the  push,  when  I  looks  over 


EGBERT  AND  A  CERTAIN  PARTY     273 

my  shoulder  and  discovers  that  Miss  Hampton 
is  almost  on  our  heels. 

"Good-night!"  says  I. 

Believe  me,  I  was  doin'  some  high-tension 
thinkin '  about  then,  tryin '  to  frame  up  an  alibi, 
when  she  reaches  over  my  shoulder  and  holds 
out  her  hand  to  someone  leanin'  against  a  pillar. 
It's  Mr.  Robert. 

"How  absurd  of  you,  Robert!"  says  she. 

"Eh?  I — I  beg  pardon!"  I  hears  him  gasp 
out. 

And,  say,  I  expect  that's  the  first  and  only 
time  I've  ever  seen  him  good  and  fussed.  Why, 
he's  flyin'  the  scarlatina  signal  clear  to  the  back 
of  his  neck ! 

"The  roses,  you  know,"  she  goes  on.  "So 
nice  of  you  to  remember  me.  I — I  thought 
you'd  forgotten.  Thank  you  for  them." 

"Roses'?"  says  he  husky,  starin'  stupid  at  the 
bunch. 

Then  he  turns  his  head  a  bit,  and  his  eyes 
light  on  me,  strugglin'  to  slip  behind  a  tall 
female  party  who's  bein'  helped  into  her  silk 
wrap.  I  must  have  looked  guilty  or  .something ; 
for  he  shoots  me  a  crisp,  knowin'  glance. 

"Oh,  yes — the — the  roses,"  I  hears  him  go 
on.  "It  was  silly  of  me,  wasn't  it?  I — I'll  ex- 
plain some  time,  if  I  may." 

"  Oh ! "  says  she.  ' '  Of  course  you  may,  if  they 
really  need  explaining. ' ' 


274          TOECHY,  PEIVATE  SEC. 

Which  was  the  last  we  heard,  as  Vee  had 
found  an  openin'  into  the  corridor  and  was 
dashin '  out  panicky.  You  can  bet  I  follows ! 

"Did — did  you  ever!"  pants  Vee  as  we  gets 
out  to  the  carriage  entrance.  "Now  we  have 
done  it,  haven't  we?" 

"And  I'm  caught  with  the  goods  on,  I  guess," 
says  I. 

"Just  fancy!"  says  she.  "Mr.  Robert  was 
there  all  the  time.  I  wonder  what  he  will " 

"Pardon  me,  you  pair  of  mischief  makers," 
says  a  voice  behind,  "but  I  haven't  quite  de- 
cided. ' ' 

It's  Mr.  Eobert! 

"Hel-lup!"  says  I  gaspy. 

"Do  I  understand,"  he  goes  on,  "that  one  of 
my  cards  went  with  those  roses  ? ' ' 

"Yep,"  says  I  prompt.  "Little  idea  of  mine. 
I — I  wanted  to  see  what  would  happen. ' ' 

"Eeally!"  says  he  sarcastic.  "Well,  I  trust 
that  my  part  of  the  performance  was  quite  sat- 
isfactory to  you."  And  with  that  he  wheels 
and  marches  off. 

"Whiffo!"  says  I,  drawin'  in  a  long  breath. 
"But  he  is  grouched  for  fair,  ain't  he?" 

All  the  sympathy  I  gets  from  Vee,  though, 
is  a  chuckle.  "Don't  you  believe  a  word  of 
it,"  says  she.  "Just  wait!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TORCHY   TACKLES   A   SHORT    CIRCUIT 

THERE  was  no  use  discountin '  the  fact,  or 
tryin'  to  smooth  it  over.  I  was  in  Dutch  with 
Mr.  Robert — all  because  Vee  and  I  tried  to  pull 
a  little  Cupid  stunt  for  his  benefit.  I'd  invested 
six  whole  dollars  in  that  bunch  of  roses  we'd 
passed  up  to  Miss  Hampton,  too !  And  just  be- 
cause we  thought  it  would  be  a  happy  hunch 
to  tie  in  his  card  with  'em,  he  goes  and  gets 
peevish. 

Not  that  he  comes  right  out  and  roasts  me  for 
gettin '  gay.  Say,  that  would  have  been  a  relief ; 
but  he  don't.  He  just  lugs  around  a  dignified, 
injured  air  and  gives  me  the  cold  eye.  Say, 
that's  the  limit,  that  is !  Makes  me  feel  as  mean 
and  little  as  a  green  strawb  'rry  on  top  of  a  bak- 
ery shortcake. 

Three  days  I'd  had.of  it,  mind  you,  with  never 
a  show  to  put  in  any  defense,  or  plead  guilty 
but  sorry,  or  anything  like  that.  And  me  all 
the  time  hoping  it  would  wear  off.  1  expect  it 
would  too,  if  someone  could  have  throttled  Billy 
Bounce.  Course  nobody  could,  or  it  would  have 
happened  long  ago.  Havin'  no  more  neck  than 

275 


276          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

an  ice-water  pitcher  has  been  Billy's  salvation 
all  through  his  career. 

Maybe  you  don't  remember  my  mentionin' 
him  before;  but  he's  the  roly-poly  club  friend 
of  Mr.  Robert's  who  went  with  us  on  that  alli- 
gator shootin'  trip  up  the  Wiggywash  two  win- 
ters ago.  Hadn't  shown  up  at  the  Corrugated 
General  Offices  for  months  before;  but  here 
the  other  afternoon  he  breezed  in,  dumps 
his  220  excess  into  a  chair  by  fthe  roll-top, 
mops  the  heavy  dew  from  various  parts  of 
his  full-moon  face,  and  proceeds  to  get  real 
folksy. 

At  the  time  I  was  waitin'  on  the  far  side  of 
the  desk  for  Mr.  Robert  to  0.  K.  a  fundin'  re- 
port, and  there  was  other  signs  of  a  busy  day 
in  plain  sight;  but  Billy  Bounce  ain't  a  bit  dis- 
turbed by  that.  He'd  come  in  loaded  with 
chat. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Bob,"  he  breaks  out,  after  a  few 
preliminary  joshes,  "who  do  you  suppose  I  ran 
across  up  in  the  Fitz- William  palm  room  the 
other  night?" 

"A  head  waiter,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

' '  Oh,  come ! ' '  says  Billy.    *  *  Give  a  guess. ' ' 

"One  of  your  front-row  friends  from  the 
Winter  Garden?"  asks  Mr.  Robert. 

"No,  a  friend  of  yours,"  says  Billy.  "That 
blue-eyed  warbler  you  used  to  be  so  nutty  over 
—Miss  Hampton.  Eh,  Bob?  How  about  it?" 


TORCHY  AND  A  SHORT  CIRCUIT     277 

With  which  he  reaches  over  playful  and  pokes 
Mr.  Robert  in  the  ribs. 

I  expect  he'd  have  put  it  across  just  as  raw 
if  there 'd  been  a  dozen  around  instead  of  only 
me.  That's  Billy  Bounce.  About  as  much  deli- 
cate reserve,  Billy  has,  as  a  traffic  cop  clearin* 
up  a  street  tangle. 

" Indeed!"  says  Mr.  Robert,  flushin'  a  bit. 
"Clever  of  you  to  remember  her.  I — er — I 
trust  she  was  charmed  to  meet  you  again?" 

"The  deuce  you  do!"  comes  back  Billy. 
"Anyway,  she  wasn't  as  grouchy  about  it  as 
you  are.  Say,  she 's  all  right,  Miss  Hampton  is ; 
a  heap  too  nice  for  a  big  ham  like  you,  as  I 
always  said." 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  recall  your  hinting  as 
much,"  says  Mr.  Robert;  "but  if  you  don't 
mind  I'd  rather  not  discuss " 

"You'd  better,  though,"  says  Billy.  "You 
see,  I  thought  I  had  to  drag  you  into  the  con- 
versation. Asked  her  if  she'd  seen  you  lately. 
And  say,  old  man,  she's  expecting  you  to  call 
or  something.  Lord  knows  why;  but  she  is, 
you  know.  Said  you  'd  probably  be  up  to-night. 
As  much  as  asked  me  to  pass  on  the  word.  Eh, 
Bob? 

"Well,  I've  done  it.  S'long.  See  you  at  the 
club  afterwards,  and  you  can  tell  me  all  about 
it." 

He  winks  roguish  over  his  shoulder  as  he 


278          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

waddles  out,  leavin'  Mr.  Robert  starin'  puz- 
zled over  the  top  of  the  desk,  and  me  with  my 
mouth  open. 

And  the  next  thing  I  know  I'm  gettin'  the 
inventory  look-over  from  them  keen  eyes  of 
Mr.  Robert's.  "You  heard,  I  suppose?"  says 
he. 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I,  sort  of  husky. 

"And  I  presume  you  understand  just  what 
that  means?"  he  goes  on.  "I  am  expected  to 
call  and  explain  about  those  roses." 

"Well?"  says  I.  "Why  not  stand  pat? 
Sendin'  flowers  to  a  young  lady  ain't  any  penal 
offense,  is  it?" 

"As  a  simple  statement  of  an  abstract  propo- 
sition," says  Mr.  Robert,  "that  is  quite  correct; 
but  in  this  instance  the  situation  is  somewhat 
more  complicated.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  find 
myself  in  a  deucedly  awkward  position." 

"That's  easy,"  says  I.  "Lay  it  to  me, 
then." 

Mr.  Robert  shakes  his  head.  "I've  consid- 
ered that,"  says  he;  "but  sometimes  the  bald 
truth  sounds  singularly  unconvincing.  I'm 
sure  it  would  in  this  case.  If  the  young  lady 
was  familiar  with  all  the  buoyant  audacity  of 
your  irrepressible  nature,  perhaps  it  would  be 
different.  No,  young  man,  I  fear  I  must  ask 
you  to  do  your  own  explaining." 

"Me?"  says  I,  gawpin'. 


TORCHY  AND  A  SHORT  CIRCUIT     279 

"We  will  call  on  Miss  Hampton  about  four- 
thirty,"  says  he. 

•  And  say,  Mr.  Robert  has  stacked  me  up 
against  some  batty  excursions  before  now;  but 
this  billin'  me  for  orator  of  the  day  when 
he  goes  to  look  up  an  old  girl  of  his  is 
about  the  fruitiest  performance  he'd  ever 
sprung. 

I  don't  know  when  I've  ever  seen  him  with 
a  worse  case  of  the  fidgets,  either.  Why,  you'd 
'most  think  he  was  due  to  answer  a  charge  of 
breakin'  and  enterin',  or  something  like  that! 
And  you  know  he's  some  nervy  sport,  Mr.  Rob- 
ert— all  except  when  it's  a  matter  of  skirts. 
Then  he's  more  or  less  of  a  skittish  party,  be- 
lieve me! 

But  at  four-thirty  we  went.  It  wa'n't  any 
joy  ride  we  had,  either.  All  the  way  up  Mr. 
Robert  sits  there  fillin'  the  limousine  with 
gloom  thick  enough  to  slice.  I  tried  chirkin' 
him  up  with  a  few  frivolous  side  remarks ;  but 
they  don't  take,  and  I  sighs  relieved  when  we're 
landed  at  the  apartment  hotel  where  Miss 
Hampton  lives. 

"Say,"  I  suggests,  "you  ain't  goin'  to  lead 
me  in  by  the  ear,  are  you  f ' ' 

"I'm  not  sure  but  that  would  be  an  appro- 
priate entrance,"  says  he.  "However,  it  might 
appear  a  trifle  theatrical." 

"What's  the  programme,  anyway?"  says  I, 


280          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

as  we  boards  the  elevator.    "Do  you  open  for 
the  defense,  or  do  I?" 

"Hanged  if  I  know!"  he  almost  groans  out. 
"I  wish  I  did." 

"Then  let's  stick  around  outside  in  the  cor- 
ridor here,"  says  I,  "until  we  frame  up  some- 
thing. Now  how  would  it  do  if " 

"You're  to  explain,  that's  all!"  says  he, 
steppin'  up  and  pushin'  the  button. 

It's  a  wonder  too,  from  the  panicky  way  he's 
actin',  he  don't  shove  me  ahead  of  him  for  a 
buffer  as  we  goes  in.  But  he  has  just  enough 
courage  left  to  let  me  trail  along  behind. 

So  it's  him  gets  the  cordial  greetin'  from  the 
vision  in  blue  net  that  floats  out  easy  and  grace- 
ful from  the  window  nook. 

I  couldn't  see  why  it  wa'n't  goin'  to  be  just 
as  awkward  for  her,  meetin'  him  again  so  long 
after  their  grand  smash,  or  whatever  it  was; 
but,  take  it  from  me,  there  ain't  any  fussed 
motions  about  Miss  Hampton  at  all.  Them  big 
china  blue  eyes  of  hers  is  steady  and  calm,  her 
perky  chin  is  carried  well  up,  and  in  one  cor- 
ner of  her  mouth  she's  displayin'  that  quirky! 
smile  he'd  described  to  me. 

"Ah,  Robert!"  says  sh£.  "So  good  of  you 
to " 

Then  she  discovers  me  and  breaks  off  sud- 
den. 

I'm  introduced  reg'lar  and  formal,  and  Mr. 


TORCHY  AND  A  SHORT  CIRCUIT     281 

Robert  adds:  "A  young  friend  of  mine  from 
the  office." 

"Oh!"  says  Miss  Hampton,  liftin'  her  eye- 
brows a  little. 

"I  brought  him  along,"  blurts  out  Mr.  Rob- 
ert, "to  tell  you  about  how  you  happened  to 
get  the  roses." 

"Really!"  says  she.  "How  considerate  of 
you!" 

And  if  Mr.  Robert  hadn't  been  actin'  so  much 
like  a  poor  prune  he  'd  have  quit  that  line  right 
there.  But  on  he  blunders. 

"You  see,"  says  he,  "I've  asked  Torchy  to 
explain  for  me." 

"Ye-e-es?"  says  she,  bitin'  her  upper  lip 
thoughtful  and  glancin'  from  one  to  the  other 
of  us.  "Then — then  you  needn't  have  bothered 
to  come  yourself,  need  you?" 

Say,  that  was  something  to  lean  against, 
wa'n't  it?  You  could  almost  hear  the  dull  thud 
as  it  reached  him. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Elsa!"  he  gets  out  gaspy.  "Of 
course  I — I  wished  to  come,  too." 

"Thank  you,"  says  she.  "I  wasn't  sure. 
And  now  that  you've  brought  him,  may  I  hear 
what  your  young  friend  has  to  say,  all  by  my- 
self?" 

She  even  springs  another  one  of  them  twisty 
smiles;  but  her  head  nods  suggestive  at  the 
door.  I  expects  I  starts  a  grin ;  but  one  glimpse 


282  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

of  Mr.  Robert's  face  and  it  fades  out.  He 
wa'n't  happy  a  bit.  For  a  minute  he  stands 
there  lookin'  sort  of  dazed,  as  if  he'd  been  hit 
with  a  lead  pipe,  and  with  his  neck  and  ears 
tinted  up  like  a  raspb'rry  sundae. 

''Very  well,"  says  he,  and  does  a  slow  exit, 
leavin'  me  gawp  in'  after  him  sympathetic. 

Not  for  long,  though.  My  turn  came  as  soon 
as  the  latch  was  clicked. 

"Now,  Torchy,"  says  she,  chummy  and  en- 
couragin',  as  she  slips  into  an  old-rose  arm- 
chair and  waves  me  towards  another. 

I'm  still  gazin'  at  the  door,  wonderin  'if  Mr. 
Robert  has  jumped  down  the  elevator  shaft  or 
is  takin'  it  out  on  the  lever  juggler. 

"Ah,  say,  Miss  Hampton!"  says  I.  "Why 
throw  the  harpoon  so  hasty  when  he  was  doin' 
his  best?" 

"Was  he?"  says  she.  "Then  his  best  isn't 
very  wonderful,  is  it?" 

"But  you  didn't  give  him  a  show,"  says  I. 
"Course  it  was  a  dippy  play  of  his,  luggin' 
me  along,  as  I  warned  him.  Believe  me, 
though,  he  meant  all  right.  There  ain't 
any  more  yellow  in  Mr.  Robert  than  there  is  in 
my  tie.  Honest!  Maybe  he  don't  show  up 
brilliant  when  he's  talkin'  to  ladies;  but  I 
want  to  tell  you  he's  about  as  good  as  they 
come."  , 

"Indeed!"  says  she,  widenin'  her  eyes  and 


TORCHY  AND  A  SHORT  CIRCUIT     283 

chucklin'  easy.  "That  is  what  I  should  call 
an  unreserved  indorsement.  But  about  the 
roses,  now!" 

Well,  I  sketched  the  plot  of  the  piece  all  out^ 
for  her,  from  findin'  her  miniature  accidental 
in  Mr.  Robert's  desk,  to  the  day  of  the  concert, 
when  she  got  the  bunch  with  his  card  tied 
to  it. 

"I'll  admit  it  was  takin'  a  chance,"  says  I; 
"but  you  see,  Miss  Hampton,  when  I  was 
joshin'  him  as  to  whose  picture  it  was  he  got 
so  enthusiastic  in  describin'  you " 

"Did  he,  truly?"  she  cuts  in. 

"Unless  I  don't  know  a  Romeo  gaze  when 
I  see  one,"  says  I..  "And  then,  when  I  figures 
out  that  if  you'd  given  him  the  chuck  it  might 
have  been  through  some  mistaken  notion,  why 
— well,  come  to  talk  it  over  with  Vee,  we 
thought " 

"Pardon  me,"  says  Miss  Hampton,  "but  just 
who  is  Vee?" 

"Eh?"  says  I,  pinkin'  up.  "Why,  in  my 
case,  she's  the  only  girl." 

"Ah-ha!"  says  she.    "So  you — er " 

"Uh-huh!"  says  I.  "I've  come  near  bein' 
ditched  myself.  And  Mr.  Robert  he's  helped 
out  more'n  once.  So  this  looked  like  my  cue 
to  hand  back  something.  We  thought  maybe 
the  roses  would  kind  of  patch  things  up.  Say, 
how  about  it,  Miss  Hampton?  Suppose  he 


284          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

hadn't  boobed  it  this  way,  wouldn't  there  be  a 
show  of " 

"You  absurd  youth!"  says  she,  liftin'  both 
hands  protesting  but  failin'  to  smother  that 
smile. 

And  say,  when  it's  aimed  straight  at  you  so 
you  get  the  full  benefit,  that's  some  winnin' 
smile  of  hers — sort  of  genuine  and  folksy,  you 
know!  It  got  me.  Why,  I  felt  like  I'd  been 
put  on  her  list  of  old  friends.  And  I  grins 
back. 

"It  wa'n't  a  case  of  another  party,  was  it?" 
says  I. 

She  laughs  and  shakes  her  head. 

"Or  an  old  watch-dog  aunt,  eh?"  I  goes  on. 

"Whatever  made  you  think  of  that?"  says 
she. 

"You  ought  to  see  the  one  that  stands  guard 
over  Vee,"  says  I.  "But  how  was  it,  anyway, 
that  Mr.  Robert  got  himself  in  wrong  with 
you?" 

"How?"  says  Miss  Hampton,  restin'  her 
perky  chin  on  one  knuckle  and  studyin'  the  rug 
pattern.  "Why,  I  think  it  must  have  been — 
well,  perhaps  it  was  my  fault,  after  all.  You 
see,  when  I  left  for  Italy  we  were  very  good 
friends.  And  over  there  it  was  all  so  new  to 
me, — Italian  life,  our  villa  hung  on  a  mountain- 
side overlooking  that  wonderful  blue  sea,  the 
people  I  met,  everything, — I  wrote  to  him,  oh, 


TORCHY  AND  A  SHORT  CIRCUIT     285 

pages  and  pages,  about  all  I  did  or  saw.  He 
must  have  been  horribly  bored  reading  them. 
I  didn't  realize  until — but  there!  We'll  not  go 
into  that.  I  stopped,  that's  all." 

"Huh!"  says  I. 

"So  it's  all  over,"  says  she.  "Only,  when 
I  thought  he  had  sent  the  roses,  of  course  I 
was  pleased.  But  now  that  he  has  taken  such 
pains  to  prove  that  he  didn't " 

She  ends  with  a  shoulder  shrug. 

"Say,  Miss  Hampton,"  I  breaks  in,  "you 
leave  it  to  me." 

"But  there  isn't  anything  to  leave,"  says 
she,  "not  a  shred!  Sometime,  though,  I  hope 
I  may  meet  your  Miss  Vee.  May  I?" 

' '  I  should  guess ! ' '  says  I.  '  *  Why,  she  thinks 
you're  a  star!  We  both  do." 

"Thank  you,  Torchy,"  says  she.  "I'm  glad 
someone  approves  of  me.  Good-by."  And  we 
shakes  hands  friendly  at  the  door. 

It  was  long  after  five  by  that  time;  but  I 
made  a  break  back  to  the  office.  Had  to  get  the 
floor  janitor  to  let  me  in.  I  was  glad,  though, 
to  have  the  place  to  myself. 

What  I  was  after  was  a  peek  at  some  back 
letter  files.  Course  I  wa'n't  sure  he  could  be 
such  a  chump;  but,  knowin'  somethin'  about  his 
habits  along  the  correspondence  line,  I  meant 
to  settle  the  point.  And,  fishin'  out  Mr.  Rob- 


286          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

ert's  personal  book,  I  begun  the  hunt.  I  had 
the  right  dope,  too. 

"The  lobster!"  says  I. 

There  it  was,  all  typed  out  neat,  "My  Dear 
Miss  Hampton."  And  dictated!  Much  as  ten 
lines,  too!  It  starts  real  chatty  and  familiar 
with,  "Yours  of  the  16th  inst.  at  hand,"  just 
like  he  always  does,  whether  he's  closin'  a  mil- 
lion-dollar deal  or  payin'  a  tailor's  bill.  He 
goes  on  to  confide  to  her  how  the  weather's, 
beastly,  business  on  the  fritz,  and  how  he 's  just 
ordered  a  new  sixty-footer  that  he  hopes  will 
be  in  commission  for  the  July  regattas. 

A  hot  billy-doo  to  a  young  lady  he's  sup- 
posed to  be  clean  nutty  over,  one  that  had  been 
sittin'  up  nights  writin'  on  both  sides  of  half 
a  dozen  sheets  to  him!  I  found  four  or  five 
more  just  like  it,  the  last  one  bein'  varied  a 
little  by  startin',  "Yours  of  the  5th  inst.  still 
at  hand."  Do  you  wonder  she  quit? 

If  this  had  been  a  letter-writin '  competition, 
I'd  have  thrown  up  both  hands ;  but  it  wa'n't. 

I'd  seen  Mr.  Robert  gazin'  mushy  af  that  pic- 
ture of  her,  and  I'd  watched  Miss  Hampton 
when  she  was  tellin'  me  about  him.  Only  they 
was  short-circuited  somewhere.  And  it  seemed 
like  a  blamed  shame. 

Half  an  hour  more  and  I'd  located  Mr.  Rob- 
ert at  his  club. 

He  ain't  very  enthusiastic,  either,  when  one 


TOECHY  AND  A  SHORT  CIRCUIT     287 

of  the  doormen  tows  me  into  the  corner  of  the 
loungin'  room  where  he's  sittin'  behind  a  tall 
glass  gazin'  moody  at  nothin'  in  particular. 

"I  suppose  you  told  her  all  about  it?"  says 
he. 

"And  then  a  few,"  says  I. 

"  Well  ?"  says  he  sort  of  hopeless. 

'  *  Verdict  for  the  defense, ' '  says  I.  "I  didn  't 
even  have  to  produce  the  florist's  receipt." 

"Then  that's  settled,"  says  he,  sighin'. 

"You  couldn't  have  made  the  job  more  com- 
plete if  you'd  submitted  affidavits,"  says  I. 
"And  if  you  don't  mind  my  savin'  so,  Mr. 
Robert,  when  it  comes  to  the  Romeo  stuff, 
you're  ten  points  off,  with  no  bids." 

Course  that  gets  a  squirm  out  of  him,  like  I 
hoped  it  would.  But  he  don't  blow  out  a  fuse 
or  anything.  "Naturally,"  says  he,  "I  am 
charmed  to  hear  such  a  frank  estimate  of  my- 
self. But  suppose  I  am  simply  trying  to  avoid 
the — the  Romeo  stuff,  as  you  put  it?" 

' '  Gwan ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  're  only  kiddin '  your- 
self. Come  now,  ain't  you  as  strong  for  Miss 
Hampton  as  ever?" 

He  stiffens  up  for  a  second;  but  then  his 
shoulders  sag.  "Torchy,"  says  he,  "your  per- 
ceptions are  altogether  too  acute.  I  admit  it. 
But  what's  the  use?  As  you  have  so  clearly 
pointed  out,  this  little  affair  of  mine  seems  to 
be  quite  thoroughly  ended." 


288          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"It  is  if  you  let  things  slide  as  they  stand," 
says  I. 

"Eh?"  says  he,  sort  of  eager.  "You  mean 
that  she— that  if " 

* '  Say, ' '  I  breaks  in,  ' '  do  you  want  it  straight 
from  a  rank  amateur?  Then  here  goes.  You 
don't  gen 'rally  wait  to  have  things  handed  to 
you  on  a  tray,  do  you?  You  ain't  that  kind. 
You  go  after  'em.  And  the  harder  you  want 
'em  the  quicker  you  are  on  the  grab.  You  don 't 
stop  to  ask  whether  you  deserve  'em  or  not, 
either.  You  just  stretch  your  fingers  and  sing 
out,  'Hey,  that's  mine!'  And  if  somebody  or 
something's  in  the  way,  you  give  'em  the 
shoulder.  Well,  that's  my  dope  in  this  case. 
You  ain't  goin'  to  get  a  young  lady  like  Miss 
Hampton  by  doin'  the  long-distance  mope.  You 
got  to  buck  up.  Eush  her  off  her  feet!" 

"By  Jove,  though,  "iTorchy,"  says  he,  bangin' 
his  fist  down  on  the  table,  "I  believe  you're 
right!  And  I  do  want  her.  I've  been  afraid 
'to  say  it,  that's  all.  But  now " 

He  squares  his  shoulders  and  sets  his  jaw 
solid. 

*  *  That 's  the  slant ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  And  the  sooner 
the  quicker,  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes!"  says  he,  jumpin'  up.  "To- 
night! I — I'll  write  to  her  at  once." 

"Ah,  squiffle!"  says  I,  indicatin'  deep  dis- 
gust. 


TOECHY  AND  A  SHORT  CIRCUIT     289 

Mr.  Robert  gazes  at  me  astonished.  "I  beg 
pardon?"  says  he. 

''Don't  be  a  nut!"  says  I.  "Excuse  me  if 
I  seem  to  throw  out  any  hints,  but  maybe  letter 
writin'  ain't  your  long  suit.  Is  it?" 

"Why,"  says  he,  "I'm  not  sure,  but  I  had 
an  idea  I  could " 


1 1 


'Maybe  you  can,"  says  I;  "but  from  the 
samples  I've  seen  I  should  have  my  doubts. 
You  know  this  'Yours  of  the  steenth  just  re- 
ceived' and  so  on  may  do  for  vice-presidents 
and  gen'ral  managers;  but  it's  raw  style  to 
spring  on  your  best  girl.  Take  it  from  me,  siz- 
zlin'  sentiments  that's  strained  through  a  type- 
writer are  apt  to  get  delivered  cold." 

"But  I'm  not  good  at  making  fine  speeches, 
either,"  he  protests. 

"You  ain't  exactly  tongue-tied,  though," 
says  I.  "And  you  ain't  startin'  out  on  this 
expedition  with  both  arms  roped  behind  you, 
are  you?" 

For  a  minute  he  stares  at  me  gaspy,  while 
that  simmers  through  the  oatmeal. 

Then  he  chuckles.  ' '  Torchy, ' '  says  he,  givin ' 
me  the  inside-brother  grip,  "there's  no  telling 
how  this  will  turn  out,  but  I — I'm  going  up !" 

I  stayed  long  enough  to  see  him  start,  too. 

Then  I  goes  home,  not  sure  whether  I'd  set 
the  scene  for  an  ear  cuffin',  or  had  plugged 
him  in  on  a  through  wire. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ME.   ROBERT   GETS   A   SLANT 

IT'S  all  wrong,  Percy,  all  wrong.  Some- 
body's been  and  rung  in  a  revise  on  this  Romeo 
dope,  and  here  we  find  ourselves  tryin'  to  make 
the  Cupid  Express  on  a  canceled  time-card. 
What  do  I  mean — we  f  Why,  me  and  Mr.  Rob- 
ert. Ah,  there  you  go!  No,  not  Miss  Vee. 
She's  all  right — don't  worry.  We're  gettin' 
along  fine,  Vee  and  me;  that  is,  so  far  as  we've 
gone.  Course  there's  'steen  diff'rent  varieties 
of  Vee;  but  I'm  strong  for  all  of  'em.  So 
there's  no  room  for  tragedy  there. 

But  when  it  comes  to  this  case  of  Mr.  Rob- 
ert and  a  certain  party ! 

You  see,  after  I've  sent  him  back  to  Miss 
Hampton  loaded  up  with  all  them  wise  hints 
about  rushin'  her  off  her  feet,  and  added  that 
hunch  as  to  rememberin'  that  he  has  a  pair  of 
arms — well,  I  leave  it  to  you.  Ain't  that  all 
reg'lar?  Don't  they  pass  it  out  that  way  in 
plays  and  magazines'?  Sure!  It's  the  hero 
with  the  quick-action  strong-arm  stuff  that  wins 
out  in  the  big  scene.  So  why  shouldn't  it  work 
for  him? 

290 


MR.  EGBERT  GETS  A  SLANT      291 

I  could  tell,  though,  by  the  rugged  set  of  his 
jaw  as  he  marches  into  the  private  office  next 
mornin',  that  it  hadn't.  I  expect  maybe  he'd 
just  as  soon  not  have  gone  into  the  subject 
then,  with  me  or  anyone  else;  but  so  long  as 
he  'd  sort  of  dragged  me  into  this  fractured  ro- 
mance of  his  I  felt  like  I  had  a  right  to  be  let 
in  on  the  results.  So  I  pivots  round  and  springs 
a  sympathetic  grin. 

"Did  you  pull  it?"  says  I. 

He  shrugs  his  shoulders  kind  of'  weary. 
"Oh,  yes,"  says  he.  "I — er — I  pulled  it." 

"Well?"  says  I,  steppin'  over  and  leanin' 
confidential  on  the  roll-top. 

"Torchy,"  says  he,  "please  understand  that 
I  am  in  no  way  censuring  you.  You — you  meant 
well." 

"Ah,  say,  Mr.  Robert!"  says  I.  "Not  so 
rough.  I  only  gave  you  the  usual  get-busy  line, 
and  if  you  went  and " 

"Wasn't  there  some  advice,"  he  breaks  in, 
' '  about  using  my  arms  ? ' ' 

"Eh!"  says  I,  gawpin'  at  him.  "You — you 
didn't  open  the  act  by  goin'  to  a  clinch,  did 
you!" 

He  lets  his  chin  drop  and  sort  of  shivers. 
"I'm  afraid  I  did,"  says  he. 

"  Z-z-z-zingo ! "  I  gasps. 

"You  see,  the  part  of  your  suggestions  which 
impressed  me  most  was  something  to  that  ef- 


292          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

feet,  as  I  recall  it.  And  then — oh,  the  deuce 
take  it,  I  lost  my  head!  Anyway,  the  next  I 

knew  she  was  in  my  arms,  and  I — I  was " 

He  ends  with  a  shoulder  shrug  and  spreads  out 
his  hands.  "I  thought  you  ought  to  know," 
he  goes  on,  "that  it  isn't  being  done." 

"But  what  then?"  says  I.  "Did  she  hand 
you  one?" 

"No,"  says  he.  "She  merely  slipped  away 
and — and  stood  laughing  at  me.  She  hardly 
seemed  indignant:  just  amused." 

"Huh!"  says  I,  starin'  puzzled.  "Then  she 
ain't  like  any  I  ever  heard  of  before.  Now  ac- 
cordin'  to  dope  she'd  either " 

"Miss  Hampton  is  not  a  conventional  young 
woman, ' '  says  he.  '  '  She  made  that  quite  plain. 
It  seems,  Torchy,  that  your — er — that  my 
method  was  somewhat  crude  and  primitive.  In 
fact,  I  believe  she  pointed  out  that  the  customs 
of  the  Stone  Age  were  obsolete.  I  was  given 
to  understand  that  she  was  not  to  be  won  in 
any  such  manner.  Perhaps  you  can  imag- 
ine that  I  was  not  thoroughly  at  ease  after 
that." 

And,  honest,  I'd  never  seen  Mr.  Eobert  when 
he  was  feelin'  so  low. 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "You  didn't  quit  at  that, 
did  you?" 

"Unfortunately  no,"  says  he.  "Our  cave- 
man tactics  having  failed,  I  tried  the  modern 


ME.  ROBERT  GETS  A  SLANT      293 

style — at  least,  I  thought  I  was  being  modern. 
The  usual  thing,  you  know. ' ' 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Both  knees  on  the  rug  and 
the  reg'lar  conservatory  nook  wilt-thou-be-mine 
lines?" 

"I  spoke  my  piece  standing,"  says  he,  "mak- 
ing it  as  impassioned  and  eloquent  as  I  knew 
how.  Miss  Hampton  continued  to  be  amused." 

"Did  you  get  any  hint  as  to  what  was  so 
funny  about  all  that?"  says  I. 

"It  appears,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  "that  impas- 
sioned declarations  are  equally  out  of  date — 
early- Victorian,  to  quote  Elsa  exactly.  Any- 
way, she  gave  me  to  understand  that  while  my 
love-making  was  somewhat  entertaining,  it  was 
hopelessly  medieval.  She  very  kindly  ex- 
plained that  undying  affection,  tender  devotion, 
and  the  protection  of  manly  arms  were  all 
tommyrot;  that  she  really  didn't  care  to  be  en- 
shrined queen  of  anyone's  heart  or  home.  She 
wishes  to  avoid  any  step  that  may  hinder  the 
development  of  her  own  personality.  You — er 
—get  that,  I  trust,  Torchy?" 

"Clear  as  mush,"  says  I.  "Was  it  just  her 
way  of  handin'  you  the  blue  ticket?" 

"Not  quite,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "That  is, 
I'm  a  little  vague  as  to  my  exact  status  myself. 
I  assume,  however,  that  I've  been  put  on  pro- 
bation, as  it  were,  until  we  become  better 
acquainted. ' ' 


294          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"And  you're  standin'  for  that,  Mr.  Robert!" 
says  I. 

He  hunches  his  shoulders.  "Miss  Hampton 
has  taught  me  to  be  humble, ' '  says  he.  "I  don't 
pretend  to  understand  her,  or  to  explain  her. 
She  is  a  brilliant  and  superior  young  person. 
She  has,  too,  certain  advanced  ideas  which  are 
a  bit  startling  to  me.  And  yet,  even  when  she 's 
hurling  Bernard  Shaw  or  H.  G.  Wells  at  me 
she — she's  fascinating.  That  quirky  smile  of 
hers,  the  quick  changes  of  expression  that  flash 
into  those  big,  china-blue  eyes,  the  sudden  lift 
of  her  fine  chin, — how  thoroughly  alive  she  is, 
how  well  poised !  So  I — well,  I  want  her,  that 's 
all.  I— I  want  her!" 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "Suppose  you  happened 
to  get  her?  What  would  you " 

' '  Heaven  only  knows ! ' '  says  he.  '  *  The  ques- 
tion seems  rather,  what  would  she  do  with  me! 
Hence  the  probation." 

"Ts  this  going  to  be  a  long-distance  try  out," 
says  I,  "with  you  reportin'  for  inspection  every 
other  Tuesday?" 

He  says  it  ain't.  Miss  Hampton's  idea  is  to 
shelve  the  matrimony  proposition  and  begin 
by  seem'  if  they  can  qualify  as  friends.  She 
shows  him  how  they'd  never  really  seen  enough 
of  each  other  to  know  if  they  had  any  common 
tastes. 

"So  I  am  to  go  with  her  to  a  few  concerts, 


MR.  ROBERT  GETS  A  SLANT      295 

art  exhibits,  lectures,  and  so  on,"  says  he, 
"while  she  has  consented  to  try  a  week-end 
yachting  cruise  with  me.  We  start  Saturday; 
that  is,  if  I  can  make  up  a  little  party.  But 
I  don't  just  know  whom  to  ask." 

"Pardon  me  if  I  seem  to  hint,"  says  I,  "but 
what's  the  matter  with  brother-in-law  Ferdie 
and  Marjorie,  with  Vee  and  me  thrown  in  for 
luck?" 

"By  Jove!"  says  he,  brightenin'  up. 
"Would  you?  And  would  Miss  Vee?" 

"Maybe  we  could  stand  it,"  says  I. 

"Done,  then!"  says  he.  "I'll  'phone  Mar- 
jorie at  once." 

And  you  should  have  watched  Mr.  Robert  for 
the  next  few  days.  Talk  about  consistent 
traininM  Why,  he  quits  goin'  to  the  club,  cuts 
out  his  lunch-hour,  and  reports  at  the  office 
at  eight-thirty.  Not  for  business,  though: 
Bernard  Shaw.  Seems  he's  decided  to  spe- 
cialize in  Shaw. 

Honest,  I  finds  him  one  noon  with  a  whole 
tray  of  lunch  gettin'  cold,  and  him  sittin'  there 
with  his  brow  furrowed  up  over  one  of  them 
batty  plays. 

"Must  be  some  thrilling"  says  I. 

"It's  clever,"  says  he;  "but  hanged  if  I 
know  what  it's  all  about!  I  must  find  out 
though — I  must ! ' ' 

He  didn't  need  to  state  why.    I  could  see  him 


296          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

preparin'  to  swap  highbrow  chat  with  Miss 
Hampton. 

Meanwhile  he  barely  takes  time  to  'phone 
a  few  orders  about  gettin'  the  cruisin'  yawl 
ready  for  the  trip.  I  hear  him  ring  up  the  Cap- 
tain, tell  him  casual  to  hire  a  cook  and  a  couple 
of  extra  hands,  provision  for  three  or  four 
days,  and  be  ready  to  sail  Saturday  noon. 
Which  ain't  the  way  he  usually  does  it,  be- 
lieve me!  Why,  I've  known  him  to  hold  up  a 
directors'  meetin'  for  an  hour  while  he  debated 
with  a  yacht  tailor  whether  a  mainsail  should 
be  thirty-two  foot  on  the  hoist,  or  thirty-one 
foot  six.  And  instead  of  shippin'  up  cases  of 
mineral  water  and  crates  of  fancy  fruit,  he 
has  them  blamed  Shaw  books  packed  careful 
and  expressed  to  Travers  Island,  where  the 
boat  is. 

We  was  to  meet  there  about  noon;  but  it's 
after  eleven  before  Mr.  Robert  shuts  his  desk 
and  sings  out  to  me  to  come  along.  We  piles 
into  his  roadster  and  breezes  up  through  town 
and  out  towards  the  Sound.  Found  the  whole 
party  waitin'  for  us  at  the  club-house :  Vee  and 
Marjorie  and  Miss  Hampton,  all  lookin'  more 
or  less  yachty. 

11  Hello!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Haven't  gone 
aboard  yet?" 

"Go  aboard  what,  I'd  like  to  know?"  speaks 
up  Marjorie. 


ME.  ROBEET  GETS  A  SLANT      297 

"Why,  the  Pyxie,"  says  he.  "See,  there  she 
is  anchored  off — well,  what  the  deuce !  Pardon 
me  for  a  moment." 

With  that  he  steps  over  to  a  six-foot  mega- 
phone swung  from  the  club  veranda  and  pro- 
ceeds to  boom  out  a  few  remarks. 

"Pyxie  ahoy!  Hey,  there!  On  board  the 
Pyxie!"  he  roars. 

No  response  from  the  Pyxie,  and  just  as  he's 
startin'  to  repeat  the  performance  up  strolls 
one  of  the  float  tenders  and  hands  him  a  note 
which  soon  has  him  gaspy  and  pink  in  the  ears. 
It's  from  his  fool  captain,  explainin'  how  that 
rich  uncle  of  his  in  Providence  had  been  taken 
very  bad  again  and  how  he  had  to  go  on  at 
once.  The  message  is  dated  last  Wednesday. 
Course,  there's  nothing  for  Mr.  Eobert  to  do 
but  tell  the  crowd  just  how  the  case  stands. 

"How  absurd — just  an  uncle!"  pouts  Mar- 
jorie.  "Now  we  can't  go  cruising  at  all,  and 
— and  I  have  three  pairs  of  perfectly  dear  deck 
shoes  that  I  wanted  to  wear!" 

"Really!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Then  we'll 
go  anyway;  that  is,  if  you'll  all  agree  to  ship 
as  a  Corinthian  crew.  What  do  you  say?" 
And  he  glances  doubtful  at  Miss  Hampton. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  that  means," 
says  she;  "but  I  am  quite  ready  to  try." 

"Oh,  let's!"  says  Vee,  clappin'  her  hands. 
"I  can  help." 


298          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"And  Ferdie  is  a  splendid  sailor,"  chimes  in 
Marjorie.  "He's  crossed  a  dozen  times." 

"Then  we're  off,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

And  inside  of  ten  minutes  the  club  launch 
has  landed  us,  bag  and  baggage,  on  the  Pyxie. 

She's  a  roomy,  comf 'table  sort  of  craft,  with 
a  kicker  engine  stowed  under  the  cockpit. 
There's  a  couple  of  staterooms,  plenty  of  bunks, 
and  a  good  big  cabin.  We  leaves  the  ladies  to 
settle  themselves  below  while  Mr.  Robert  in- 
spects things  on  deck. 

"Plenty  of  gasoline,  thank  goodness!"  says 
he.  "And  the  water  butts  are  full.  We  can 
touch  at  Greenwich  for  supplies.  Now  let's 
get  sail  on  her,  boys." 

And  it  was  rich  to  see  Ferdie,  all  gussied  up 
in  yellow  gloves,  throwin'  his  whole  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-three  pounds  onto  a  rope. 
Say,  about  all  the  yachtin'  Ferdie  and  me  had 
ever  done  before  was  to  stand  around  and  look 
picturesque.  But  this  was  the  real  thing,  and 
it  comes  mighty  near  bein'  reg'lar  work,  take  it 
from  me. 

But  by  the  time  the  girls  appeared  we  had 
yanked  up  all  the  sails  that  was  handy,  and  the 
Pyxie  was  slanted  over,  just  scootin'  through 
the  choppy  water  gay  and  careless,  like  she  was 
glad  to  be  tied  loose. 

"Isn't  this  glorious?"  exclaims  Miss  Hamp- 
ton, steadying  herself  on  the  high  side  and 


MR.  ROBERT  GETS  A  SLANT      299 

glancin'  admirin'  up  at  the  white  sails  stretched 
tight  as  drumheads. 

I  expect  that  should  have  been  Mr.  Robert's 
cue  to  shoot  off  something  snappy  from  Ber- 
nard Shaw;  but  just  about  then  he's  busy  cut- 
tin'  across  in  front  of  a  big  coastin'  schooner, 
and  all  he  remarks  is : 

' 'Hey,  Torchy!  Trim  in  on  that  main  sheet. 
Trim  in,  you  duffer!  Pull!  That's  it.  Now 
make  fast." 

Nothin'  fancy  about  Mr.  Robert's  yachtin' 
outfit.  He's  costumed  in  an  old  pair  of  wide- 
bottomed  white  ducks  some  splashed  with  paint, 
and  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up  and  a  faded 
old  cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes  he  sure  looks 
like  business.  I  could  see  Miss  Hampton 
glancin'  at  him  sort  of  curious. 

But  he  don 't  have  time  to  glance  back ;  for  we 
was  zigzaggin'  up  the  Sound,  dodgin'  steamers 
and  motor-boats  and  other  yachts,  and  he 
was  keepin'  both  eyes  peeled.  Every  now 
and  then  too  something  had  to  be  done  in  a 
hurry. 

"Ready  about!"  he'd  call.  "Now!  Hard 
alee!  Leggo  that  jib  sheet — you,  Ferdie. 
Slack  it  off.  Now  trim  in  on  the  other  side. 
Flatter.  Oh,  haul  it  home!" 

And  I  expect  Ferdie  and  me  wa'n't  any  too 
much  help. 

"Why,  I  never  knew  that  yachting  could  be 


300          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

so  exciting,"  says  Miss  Hampton.  "It's  really 
quite  a  game,  isn't  it?" 

"Especially  with  a  green  crew,"  says  Mr. 
Robert. 

'  *  But  what  a  splendid  breeze ! ' ' 

"It'll  be  fresh  enough  by  the  time  we  open 
up  Captain 's  Island, ' '  says  he.  ' l  Just  wait ! ' ' 

Sure  enough,  as  we  gets  further  up  the 
Sound  the  harder  it  blows.  The  waves  got  big- 
ger too,  and  begun  sloppin'  over  the  bow,  up 
where  Ferdie  was  managin'  the  jib. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  he  sings  out.  "I'm  getting  all 
splashed,  you  know." 

"Couldn't  he  have  an  umbrella?"  asks  Mar- 
jorie. 

"Please,"  puts  in  Vee,  "let  me  handle  the 
jib  sheets.  I've  sailed  a  half -rater,  and  I  don't 
mind  getting  wet,  not  a  bit. ' ' 

"Then  for  the  love  of  soup  go  forward  and 
send  Ferdie  aft!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Quick 
now!  I'm  coming  about  again.  Hard 
alee!" 

"How  wonderful!"  says  Miss  Hampton  as 
she  watches  Vee  juggle  the  ropes  skillful.  "I 
wish  I  could  do  that ! ' ' 

"Do  you?"  says  Mr.  Robert  eager.  "Per- 
haps you'll  let  me  teach  you  how  to  sail. 
Would  you  like  to  try  the  wheel  ?  Here !  Now 
this  way  puts  her  off ,  and  the  other  brings  her 
up.  See?" 


ME.  EGBERT  GETS  A  SLANT      301 

"N-n-not  exactly,"  says  Miss  Hampton,  grip- 
pin'  the  spokes  gingerly. 

It  wa'n't  any  day,  though,  for  a  steerin' 
lesson.  Most  of  the  time  the  deck  was  on  quite 
a  slant,  which  seems  to  amuse  Miss  Hampton  a 
lot. 

"How  odd!"  says  she.  "We're  sailing  al- 
most on  edge,  aren't  we?  Isn't  it  glorious!" 

Mr.  Robert  don't  seem  to  be  so  enthusiastic. 
He  keeps  watching  the  sails  and  the  water  and 
rollin'  the  wheel  constant. 

"I  suppose  we  really  ought  to  get  some  of 
this  canvas  off  her,"  says  he.  "Ferdie,  could 
you  help  tie  in  a  reef?" 

"I — I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  says  Ferdie. 
"I  think  perhaps " 

"This  wouldn't  be  a  thinking  job,"  says  Mr. 
Robert.  "Of  course  I  might  douse  the  main- 
sail altogether  and  run  under  jib  and  jigger; 
but — no,  I  guess  she'll  carry  it.  Ease  off  on 
that  main  sheet  a  trifle,  Torchy." 

We  was  makin'  a  straight  run  for  it  now, 
slap  up  the  Sound — and  believe  me  we  was 
breezin'  along  some  swift!  Vee  had  come  back 
with  the  rest  of  us,  her  hair  all  sparkled  up 
with  salt  spray  and  her  eyes  shinin',  and  shows 
me  how  to  coil  up  the  slack  of  the  sheet  like 
a  door-mat.  On  and  on  we  booms,  with  the  land 
miles  away  on  either  side. 

'  *  But  see  here ! ' '  protests  Ferdie.    ' '  I  thought 


302          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

we  were  to  stop  at  Greenwich  for  provi- 
sions." 

"Make  in  there  against  this  head  wind?" 
says  Mr.  Robert.  "Not  to-day." 

It's  comin'  in  heavy  puffs  now,  and  the  sky 
is  cloudin'  up  some.  Two  or  three  times  Mr. 
Robert  heads  the  Pyxie  up  into  it  and  debates 
about  takin'  in  the  mainsail.  Then  he  decides 
it  would  be  better  to  square  off  and  make  for 
some  cove  he  knows  of  on  the  north  shore  of 
Long  Island.  So  we  let  out  the  sheet  a  bit 
more  and  go  plungin'  along. 

Must  have  been  about  four  o'clock  when  it 
got  to  blowin'  hardest.  A  puff  would  hit  us 
and  souse  the  bow  under,  with  the  spray  flyin' 
clear  over  us.  We'd  heel  until  the  water  was 
runnin'  white  along  the  lee  deck  from  bow  to 
stern.  Then  it  would  let  up  a  bit,  and  the 
yacht  would  straighten  and  sort  of  shake  her- 
self before  another  came. 

"I  think  we'll  have  to  slack  away  on  our 
peak  and  spill  some  of  this  over  the  gaff,"  says 
Mr.  Robert.  "Torchy,  stand  by  that  halyard, 
and  when  I  give  the  word " 

Cr-r-r-rack !  It  come  mighty  abrupt.  For  a 
minute  I  can't  make  out  what  has  happened; 
but  when  I  sees  the  mast  stagger  and  go 
lurchin'  overboard/ sail  and  all,  I  thought  it 
was  a  case  of  women  and  children  first. 

"Oh,   dear!     How   dreadful   of  you,   Rob- 


MR.  ROBERT  GETS  A  SLANT      303 

ert!"  wails  Ferdie.    "We're  wrecked!    Help! 
Help!" 

"Oh,  dry  up,  Ferdie!"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
"No  hysterics,  please.  Can't  we  lose  a  mast  or 
so  without  gettin'  panicky?  Just  a  weak  turn- 
buckle  on  the  weather  stay,  that's  all.  Here, 
Vee,  take  the  wheel,  will  you,  and  see  if  you 
can  keep  her  headed  into  it  while  wTe  chop  away 
this  wreckage.  Torchy,  you'll  find  a  couple  of 
axes  over  the  forward  lockers.  Get  'em  up. 
Lively,  now!" 

We  hacked  away  reckless,  choppin'  through 
wire  stays  and  ropes,  until  we  has  it  all  clear. 
Then  we  trims  in  the  jigger  and  gets  away  from 
it.  Two  minutes  later  and  we've  got  the  en- 
gine started  and  are  wallowin'  along  towards 
land.  It  was  near  six  before  we  made  the  cove 
and  anchored  in  smooth  water  behind  a  little 
point. 

Meanwhile  the  girls  had  gone  below  to  ex- 
plore the  galley,  and  when  we  fin'lly  makes 
everything  snug,  and  trails  on  down  into  the 
cabin  to  see  how  they're  comin'  on,  what  do 
we  find  but  the  table  all  set  and  Marjorie  fillin' 
the  water  glasses.  Also  there's  a  welcome 
smell  of  food  driftin'  about. 

"Well,  well!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Found 
something  to  eat,  did  you?  What's  the 
menu?" 

"Smothered  potatoes  with  salt  pork,  baked 


304          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

beans,  hard-tack,  and  coffee/'  says  Marjorie. 
"Here  it  comes." 

And,  say,  maybe  that  don't  sound  so  thrillin' 
to  you,  but  to  me  it  listens  luscious. 

"By  Jove !"  says  Mr.  Robert,  after  lie's  sam- 
pled the  layout.  "Who's  the  cook?" 

Vee  says  it  was  Miss  Hampton. 

1 1  Wha-a-at  ? ' '  says  he,  starin '.   *  *  Not  really  ? " 

Miss  Hampton  comes  back  at  him  with  that 
quirky  smile  of  hers.  "Why  the  intense  sur- 
prise?" says  she. 

"But  I  didn't  dream,"  says  Mr.  Robert, 
"that  you  ever  did  anything  so — er " 

1 1  Commonplace  ? ' ' 

"  Early- Victorian, "  he  corrects. 

"Cook?"  says  she.  "Oh,  dear,  yes!  I  can 
wash  dishes,  too." 

"Can  you?"  says  he.  "I'm  fine  at  wiping 
'em." 

"Such  conceit!"  says  she. 

"Then  I'll  prove  it,"  says  he,  "right  after 
dinner." 

"I'll  help  you,  Robert,"  says  Marjorie. 

"My  dear  sister,"  says  he,  "please  consider 
the  size  of  the  Pyxie's  galley." 

So,  as  there  didn't  seem  to  be  any  more  com- 
petition, after  we  'd  finished  everything  in  sight 
we  left  the  two  of  'em  joshin'  away  merry,  doin* 
the  dishes.  Later  on,  while  Ferdie's  pokin* 
around,  he  makes  a  discovery. 


ME.  ROBERT  GETS  A  SLANT      305 

"Oh,  I  say,  Bob,"  lie  calls  down,  "there's  a 
box  up  here  that  hasn't  been  opened.  Grocer- 
ies, I  think.  Come  have  a  look  at  it." 

Mr.  Robert  he  takes  one  glance  and  turns 
away  disgusted.  "No,"  says  he.  "I  know 
what's  in  there.  No  use  at  all  on  this  trip." 
Then,  as  he  passes  me  he  whispers:  "I  say, 
when  you  get  a  chance,  chuck  that  box  over- 
board, will  you?" 

I  nods,  grinnin',  and  explains  confidential  to 
Vee. 

And  half  an  hour  or  so  afterwards,  ten  per- 
fectly good  volumes  of  Bernard  Shaw  splashed 
overboard. 

Next  we  sends  Ferdie  to  take  a  peek  down 
the  companionway  and  report. 

"They're  looking  at  a  chart,"  says  he. 

"Same  side  of  the  table,"  says  I,  "or  oppo- 
site?" 

"Why,  they're  both  on  one  side." 

"Huh!"  says  I,  nudgin'  Vee.  "That  high- 
brow line  might  work  out  in  time,  but  for  a 
quick  get-together  proposition  I'm  backin'  the 
dishpan." 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

WHEN   ELLA   MAY   CAME   BY 
/ 

BELIEVE  me,  this  job  of  bein'  private  sec.  all 
day  and  doublin'  as  assistant  Cupid  after  hours 
may  be  entertainin'  and  all  that,  but  it  ain't 
any  drowsy  detail.  Don't  leave  you  much  time 
for  restin'  your  heels  high  or  framin'  up  peace 
programmes.  Course,  the  fact  that  Vee  is  in 
with  me  on  this  affair  between  Mr.  Kobert  and 
Miss  Hampton  is  a  help.  I  ain't  overlookin' 
that. 

And  after  our  mix-up  yachtin*  cruise,  when 
we  lost  a  mast  and  Bernard  Shaw  overboard 
the  same  day,  it  looked  like  we  'd  got  everything 
all  straightened  out.  Why  not?  Mr.  Eobert 
seems  to  have  decided  that  his  lady-love  wa'n't 
such  a  confirmed  highbrow  as  he'd  suspected, 
and  he  was  doin'  the  steady  comp'ny  act  con- 
stant and  enthusiastic,  just  the  way  he  does 
everything  he  tackles,  from  yacht  racin'  to  put- 
tin'  a  crimp  in  an  independent.  In  fact,  he 
wa'n't  doin'  much  else. 

"Where's  Robert?"  demands  Old  Hickory, 
marchin'  out  of  his  private  office  and  glarm* 
at  the  closed  roll-top. 

306 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      307 

"I  expect  he's  takin'  the  afternoon  off,"  says 
I,  maybe  grinnin'  a  bit. 

"Huh!"  says  the  boss.  "The  second  this 
week !  I  thought  that  fool  regatta  was  over. ' ' 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is,"  says  I.  "Besides,  he  didn't 
enter." 

"  Oh ! "  says  Mr.  Ellins.  ' '  Then  it  isn 't  a  case 
of  a  sixty-footer?" 

"The  one  he's  tryin'  to  manage  now  is  about 
five-foot  six,"  says  I. 

"Eh?"  says  Old  Hickory,  workin'  his  eye- 
brows. "That  Miss  Hampton  again?" 

I  nods. 

"Torchy,"  he  goes  on,  "of  course  I've  no 
particular  right  to  be  informed,  being  only  his 
father,  but — er — about  how  much  longer  should 
you  say  that  affair  would  run  before  it  comes 
to  some  sort  of  climax?  In  other  words,  how 
is  he  getting  on?" 

"The  last  I  knew,"  says  I,  "he  was  comin' 
strong.  Course,  he  made  a  couple  of  false 
starts  there  at  the  send-off,  but  now  he  seems 
to  have  struck  his  gait." 

"Really!"  says  Old  Hickory.  "And  now, 
solely  in  the  interest  of  the  Corrugated  Trust, 
could  you  go  so  far  as  to  predict  a  date  when 
he  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  resume 
business  activities?" 

I  chews  that  over  a  minute,  and  runs  my  fin- 
gers thoughtful  through  my  red  thatch. 


308          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

"Nope,"  says  I.  "If  I  was  any  such  prize 
guesser  as  that,  I'd  be  down  in  Wall  Street 
buckin'  the  market.  Maybe  after  Sunday, 
though,  I  might  make  a  report  one  way  or  the 
other." 

' '  Ah !    You  scent  a  crisis,  do  you  f ' '  says  he. 

"It's  this  way,"  says  I.  "Marjorie's  givin' 
a  little  week-end  house  party  for  'em  out  at 
her  place,  and — well,  you  know  how  that's  apt 
to  work  out  at  this  stage  of  the  game." 

"You  think  it  may  end  the  agony?"  says  he. 

"There'll  be  a  swell  chance  for  twosin',"  says 
I.  "Marjorie's  plannin'  for  that." 

"I  see,"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "Undisturbed 
propinquity — a  love  charm  that  was  old  when 
the  world  was  young.  And  if  Marjorie  is 
managing  the  campaign,  it's  all  over  with 
Robert." 

That  was  my  dope  on  the  subject  too,  after 
I'd  seen  the  layout  of  her  first  skirmish.  There 
was  just  half  a  dozen  of  us  mobilized  at  this 
flossy  suburban  joint  Saturday  afternoon,  but 
from  the  start  it  was  plain  that  four  of  us  was 
on  hand  only  to  keep  each  other  out  of  the  way 
of  this  pair.  Course,  Vee  and  I  hardly  needs 
to  have  the  cue  passed.  We  were  satisfied  to 
hunt  up  a  veranda  corner  of  our  own  and  stick 
to  it. 

But  Brother-in-law  Ferdie,  with  that  double- 
ply  slate  roof  of  his,  needs  watchin*  close.  He 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      309 

has  a  nutty  idea  that  he  ought  to  be  sociable, 
and  he  no  sooner  spots  Mr.  Robert  and  Miss 
Elsa  Hampton,  chattin'  cozy  in  a  garden  nook, 
than  he 's  prompted  to  kick  in  and  explain  to  'em 
all  about  the  Latin  names  of  the  surroundin' 
vines  and  shrubbery.  Which  brings  out  busi- 
ness of  distress  from  Marjorie.  So  one  of  us 
has  to  go  shoo  him  away. 

"Why — er — what's  the  matter!"  says  he, 
blinkin'  puzzled,  after  he's  been  led  off. 

1  'You  was  makin'  a  noise  like  a  seed  cata- 
logue, that's  all,"  says  I.  "Chop  it,  can't 
you?" 

Ferdie  only  stares  at  me  through  ,1ns  thick 
window-panes  and  puts  on  an  injured  air.  Half 
an  hour  later,  though,  he's  at  it  again. 

"You  tell  him,  Torchy,"  sighs  Marjorie. 
' '  Try  to  make  him  understand. ' ' 

So  I  makes  a  strong  stab. 

"Look,"  says  I,  towin'  him  off  on  a  thin  ex- 
cuse. "That  ain't  any  convention  they're 
holdin'  out  there.  So  far  as  they  know,  it's 
just  a  happy  chance.  If  they're  let  alone  the 
meetin'  may  develop  tender  moments.  Any- 
way, you  might  give  'em  a  show,  and  if  they 
want  you  bad  they  can  run  up  a  flag.  See? 
There 's  times,  you  know,  when  two  is  bliss,  but 
a  third  is  a  blister.  Get  me?" 

I  expect  he  did,  in  a  way.  The  idea  filters 
through  sort  of  slow,  but  he  finally  decides  that, 


310          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

for  some  reason  too  deep  for  him  to  dig  up, 
he  ain't  wanted  mixin'  around  folksy. 

So  from  then  on  until  dinnertime  our  couple 
had  all  the  chance  in  the  world.  Looked  like 
they  was  doin'  noble,  too;  for  every  once  in 
a  while  we  could  hear  that  ripply  laugh  of  hers, 
or  Mr.  Robert's  hearty  chuckle — which  should 
have  been  good  signs  that  they  was  enjoyin' 
each  other's  comp'ny.  We  even  had  to  send 
out  word  it  was  time  to  doll  up  for  dinner. 

But  an  affair  like  that  is  like  a  feather  bal- 
anced on  your  nose.  Any  boob  is  liable  to 
open  a  door  on  you.  In  this  case,  all  was  lovely 
and  serene  until  Marjorie  gets  this  'phone  call. 
I  hears  her  summonin'  Vee  panicky  and 
sketchin'  out  the  details. 

"It's  Ella  May  Buell!"  says  she.  "She's 
down  at  the  station." 

Seems  that  Miss  Buell  was  a  boardin '-school 
friend  who  was  about  to  cash  in  one  of  them 
casual  blanket  invitations  that  girls  give  out 
so  reckless — you  know,  the  Do-come-and-see- 
me-any-time  kind.  And,  with  her  livin'  down 
in  Alabama  or  Georgia  somewhere,  maybe  it 
looked  safe  at  the  time.  But  now  she  was  on 
her  way  to  the  White  Mountains  for  a  summer 
flit,  and  she'd  just  remembered  Marjorie  for 
the  first  time  in  three  years. 

"Goodness!"  says  Marjorie,  whisperin' 
husky  across  the  hall.  "Someone  ought  to  go 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      311 

right  down  to  meet  her.  I  can't,  of  course ;  and 
Ferdie's  only  begun  to  dress." 

"Ask  Torchy,"  suggests  Vee. 

And,  as  I'm  all  ready  except  another  half 
hitch  to  my  white  tie,  I'm  elected.  Three  min- 
utes more  and  I'm  whizzin'  down  in  the  limou- 
sine to  receive  the  Southern  delegate.  And 
say,  when  I  pipes  the  fairy  in  the  half-masted 
skirt  and  the  zippy  Balkan  bonnet,  I  begins 
bracin'  myself  for  what  I  could  see  comin'. 

One  of  these  pouty-lipped,  rich-tinted  fairies, 
Ella  May  is,  wearin'  a  baby  stare  and  chorus- 
girl  ear-danglers.  Does  she  wait  to  be  hunted 
up  and  rescued?  Not  her !  The  minute  I  drops 
out  of  the  machine,  she  trips  right  over  and 
gives  me  the  hail. 

"Are  you  looking  for  me?"  says  she.  "I 
hope  you  are,  for  I've  been  waiting  at  this 
wretched  station  for  ages." 

"If  it's  Miss  Buell,  I  am,"  says  I. 

*  *  Of  course  I  'm  Miss  Buell, ' '  says  she.  ' '  Help 
me  in.  Now  get  my  bags.  They're  inside, 
Honey." 

"Inside  what!"  I  gasps. 

"Why,  the  station,"  says  she.  "And 
give  the  man  a  quarter  for  me — there's  a 
dear." 

Talk  about  speed !  Leave  it  to  the  Dixie  girls 
of  this  special  type.  I  used  to  think  our  Broad- 
way  matinee  fluffs  was  about  the  swiftest  fas- 


312          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

cinators  using  the  goo-goo  tactics.  But  say, 
when  it  comes  right  down  to  quick  action,  some 
of  these  cotton-belt  belles  can  throw  in  a  high 
gear  that  makes  our  Gwendolyns  look  like  they 
was  only  hittin'  on  odd  cylinders.  Ella  May 
was  a  sample.  We  was  havin'  our  first  glimpse 
of  each  other,  but  in  less'n  forty-five  seconds 
by  the  watch  she  'd  called  me  honey,  dearied  me 
twice,  and  patted  me  chummy  on  the  arm.  And 
we  hadn't  driven  two  blocks  before  she  had  me 
snuggled  up  in  the  corner  like  we  was  old 
friends. 

"Tell  me,  Honey,"  says  she,  "what  is  dear 
old  Marjorie 's  hubby  like?" 

"Ferdie?"  says  I.  "Why,  he's  all  right 
when  you  get  to  know  him." 

"Oh!"  says  she.  "That  kind!  But  aren't 
there  any  other  men  around?" 

"Only  Mr.  Robert  Ellins,"  says  I. 

"Really!"  says  she,  her  eyes  widenin'! 
"Bob  Ellins!  That's  nice.  I  met  him  once 
when  he  came  to  see  Marjorie  at  boarding 
school.  I  was  such  an  infant  then,  though.  But 
now " 

She  dives  into  her  vanity  bag  and  proceeds 
to  retouch  the  scenic  effects  on  her  face. 

"Don't  waste  it,"  says  I.  "He's  sewed  up — 
a  Miss  Hampton.  She's  there,  too." 

"Pooh!"  pouts  Miss  Buell.  "Who  cares? 
She  doesn't  keep  him  in  a  cage,  does  she?" 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      313 

"It  ain't  that,"  says  I;  "but  his  eyesight 
for  anyone  else  is  mighty  poor." 

"Oh,  is  it?"  says  she,  sarcastic  and  doubt- 
ful. "We'll  see  about  that.  But,  anyway,  I'm 
beginning  to  be  glad  I  came.  Can  you  guess 
why!" 

"I'm  a  wild  guesser,"  says  I.  "Shoot 
it." 

"Because,"  says  she,  "I  think  I'm  going  to 
like  you  rather  well." 

More  business  of  cuddlin',  and  a  hand 
dropped  careless  on  my  shoulder.  We  were 
still  more  'n  a  mile  from  the  house,  and  if  I  was 
to  do  any  blockm'-off  stunt,  it  was  high  time  I 
begun.  I  twists  my  head  around  and  gazes  at 
the  careless  hand. 

"Excuse  me,  sister,"  says  I,  "but  before  this 
goes  any  further  I  got  to  ask  a  question.  Are 
your  intentions  serious  ? ' ' 

"Why,  the  idea !"  says  she.  "What  on  earth 
do  you  mean?" 

"I  only  want  to  be  sure,"  says  I,  "that  you 
ain't  tryin'  to  trifle  with  my  young  affec- 
tions." 

She  stiffens  at  that  and  goes  a  little  gaspy. 
Also  she  grabs  away  the  hand. 

"Of  all  the  conceit!"  says  she.  "Anyone 
might  think  that — that " 

"So  they  might,"  says  I.  "Of  course,  it's 
sweet  to  be  picked  out  this  way;  but  it's  a 


314  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

little  sudden,  ain't  it?  You  know,  I'm  kind  of 
young  and " 

"  I  Ve  a  great  mind  to  box  your  ears ! ' '  breaks 
in  Ella  May. 

"In  that  case,"  says  I,  "I  couldn't  even 
promise  to  be  a  brother  to  you." 

"Wretch!"  says  she,  her  eyes  snappin'. 

"Sorry,"  says  I,  "but  you'll  get  over 
it.  It  may  be  a  little  hard  at  first,  but  in 
time  you'll  meet  another  who  will  make  you 
forget. ' ' 

That  last  jab  had  her  speechless,  and  all  she 
could  do  was  run  her  tongue  out  at  me.  But 
it  worked.  After  that  she  snuggled  in  her  own 
corner,  and  when  we  lands  at  the  house  she's 
treatin'  me  with  cold  disdain,  almost  as  if  I'd 
been  a  reg'lar  brother.  There's  no  knowin', 
either,  what  report  Marjorie  got.  Must  have 
been  something  interestin',  for  when  she  finally 
comes  down  after  steerin'  Miss  Buell  to  heE 
room,  she  gives  me  the  knowin'  wink. 

Ella  May  gets  even,  though.  She  holds  up  din- 
ner forty-five  minutes  while  she  sheds  her  trav- 
elin'  costume  for  an  evenin'  gown.  And  it's 
some  startlin'  creation  she  springs  on  us  about 
the  time  we're  ready  to  bite  the  glass  knobs  off 
the  dinin'-room  doors.  She's  a  stunner,  all 
right,  and  she  sails  down  with  that  baby  stare 
turned  on  full  voltage. 

You  'd  most  thought,  though,  with  all  the  hints 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      315 

me  and  Marjorie  had  dropped,  and  her  seein' 
Mr.  Kobert  and  Miss  Hampton  chattin'  so  busy 
together,  that  she'd  have  hung  up  the  net  and 
waited  until  she  struck  better  huntin'  grounds. 
But  not  Ella  May.  Here  was  a  perfectly  good 
man;  and  as  long  as  nobody  had  handcuffs  on 
him,  or  hadn't  guarded  him  with  barbed  wire, 
she  was  ready  to  take  a  chance. 

Just  how  she  managed  it  I  couldn't  say,  even 
if  it  was  done  right  under  my  eyes;  but  when 
we  starts  in  for  dinner  she's  clingin'  sort  of 
playful  to  one  side  of  Mr.  Robert,  chatterin'  a 
steady  stream,  while  Miss  Hampton  is  left  to 
drift  along  on  the  other,  almost  as  if  she  was 
an  "also-ran." 

Mr.  Robert  wa'n't  havin'  such  a  swell  time 
that  meal,  either.  About  once  in  three  or  four 
minutes  he'd  get  a  chance  to  say  a  few  words 
to  Miss  Hampton,  but  most  of  the  time  he  was 
busy  listenin'  to  Ella  May.  So  was  the  rest 
of  us,  in  fact.  Not  that  she  was  sayin'  anything 
important  or  specially  interestin'.  Mainly  it's 
snappy  personal  anecdotes — about  Ella  May, 
or  her  brother  Glenn,  or  Uncle  Wash  Lee,  the 
Buell  fam'ly  butler.  Or  else  she's  teasin'  Mr. 
Robert  about  not  rememberin'  her  better,  darin' 
him  to  look  her  square  in  the  eyes,  and  such 
little  tricks. 

Say,  she  was  some  whirlwind  performer, 
take  it  from  me.  I  discovers  that  everybody 


316          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

was  "Honey"  to  her,  even  Ferdie.  And  you 
should  have  seen  him  tint  up  and  glance  pan- 
icky at  Marjorie  the  first  time  she  put  it  over 
on  him. 

As  for  Miss  Hampton,  she  appears  to  be  en- 
joyin'  the  whole  thing.  She  watches  Miss  Buell 
sparkle  and  roll  her  eyes,  and  only  smiles  sort 
of  amused.  For  what  Ella  May  is  unlimberin' 
is  an  attack  in  force,  as  a  war  correspondent 
would  put  it — an  assault  with  cavalry,  heavy 
guns,  and  infantry.  And,  for  all  his  society 
experience,  Mr.  Robert  don't  seem  to  know  how 
to  meet  it.  He  acts  sort  of  dazed  and  helpless, 
now  and  then  glancin'  appealin'  across  to  Sis- 
ter Marjorie,  or  around  at  Miss  Hampton. 

All  that  evenin'  the  attack  goes  on,  Ella  May 
workin'  the  spell  overtime,  gettin'  Mr.  Robert 
to  let  her  read  his  palm,  pinnin'  flowers  in  his 
buttonhole,  and  keepin '  him  cornered ;  while  the 
rest  of  us  sits  around  like  cheap  deadheads 
that  had  been  let  in  on  passes. 

And  next  mornin',  when  Mr.  Robert  makes  a 
desperate  stab  to  duck  right  after  breakfast, 
only  to  be  captured  again  and  led  into  the  gar- 
den, Marjorie  finally  gets  her  mad  up. 

"Really,"  says  she,  "this  is  too  absurd!  Of 
course,  she  always  was  an  outrageous  flirt. 
You  should  have  seen  her  at  boarding  school — 
with  the  music  professor,  the  principal's 
brother,  the  school  doctor.  Twice  they  threat- 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      317 

ened  to  send  her  home.  But  after  I've  told  her 
that  Eobert  was  practically  engaged  to  Miss 
Hampton — well,  it  must  be  stopped,  that's  all. 
Ferdie,  can't  you  think  of  some  way?" 

1 « Eh  f '  says  Ferdie.    ' '  What  ?    How  ? ' ' 

That 's  the  sort  of  help  he  contributes  to  this 
council  of  war  Marjorie's  called  on  the  side 
terrace. 

And  all  Vee  will  do  is  to  chuckle.  "It's  such 
a  joke ! ' '  says  she. 

"But  it  isn't,"  says  Marjorie.  "Do  you 
know  where  Elsa  Hampton  is  at  this  minute? 
In  the  library,  reading  a  magazine — alone! 
And  she  and  Robert  were  getting  on  so 
nicely,  too.  Torchy,  can't  you  suggest  some- 
thing?" 

' '  Might  slip  out  there  with  a  rope  and  tie  her 
to  a  tree  while  Mr.  Eobert  makes  his  escape," 
says  I. 

A  snicker  from  Vee. 

"Please!"  says  Marjorie.  "This  is  really 
serious.  I  can't  explain  to  Elsa.  But  what 
must  she  think  of  Eobert!  I've  simply  got  to 
get  rid  of  that  girl  somehow.  She's  one  of  the 
kind,  you  know,  who  would  stay  and  stay  un- 
til  " 

"Hello!"  says  I,  glancin'  out  towards  the 
entrance-gates.  '  *  What  sort  of  a  (delegation  is 
this?" 

A  tall,  loppy  young  female  in  a  sagged  skirt 


318          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

and  a  faded  pink  shirtwaist  is  driftin'  up  the 
driveway,  towin'  a  bow-legged  three-year-old 
boy  by  one  hand  and  luggin'  a  speckle-faced 
baby  on  her  hip. 

1  'Oh!"  says  Marjorie.  "That  scamp  of  a 
Bob  Flynn's  Katie  again." 

Seems  Flynn  had  been  one  of  Mr.  Robert's 
chauffeurs  that  he  'd  wished  onto  Ferdie  a  year 
or  so  back  on  account  of  Flynn 's  bein'  mar- 
ried and  complainin'  he  couldn't  support  his 
fam'ly  in  the  city.  If  he  could  get  a  place  in 
the  country,  where  the  rents  wa'n't  so  high  and 
his  old  chowder-party  friends  wa'n't  so  thick, 
Flynn  thought  he  might  do  better.  He  had 
steadied  down  for  a  while,  too,  until  he  took 
a  sudden  notion  to  slope  and  leave  his  inter- 
estin'  fam'ly  behind. 

"She's  coming  to  ask  if  we've  heard  any- 
thing of  him,"  goes  on  Marjorie.  "I've  a  good 
notion  to  send  her  straight  to  Robert." 

"Say,"  says  I,  havin'  one  of  my  thought- 
flashes,  "wait  a  minute.  We  might — do  I  un- 
derstand that  the  flitting  hubby's  name  was 
Robert?" 

Marjorie  nods. 

"And  will  you  stand  for  anything  I  can  pull 
off  that  might  jar  Ella  May's  strangle-hold  over 
there?" 

"Anything,"  says  Marjorie. 

"Then  lend  me  this  deserted  fam'ly  for  a  few 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      319^ 

minutes,"  says  I.  "I  ain't  had  time  to  sketch 
out  the  plot  of  the  piece  exactly,  but  if  you  say 
so  I'll  breeze  ahead." 

It  was  going  to  be  a  bit  raw,  I'll  admit; 
but  Marjorie  has  insisted  that  it's  a  desper- 
ate case.  So,  after  a  short  confab  with  Mrs. 
Flynn  and  the  kids,  they're  turned  over 
to  me. 

"I  ain't  sure,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "that  young 
Mr.  Ellins  can  spare  the  time.  He's  pretty 
busy  just  now.  But  maybe  I  can  break  in 
long  enough  to  ask  him,  and  if  he's  heard  any- 
thing— well,  you  can  be  handy.  Suppose  you 
wait  here  at  the  garden  gate.  No,  leave  it  open, 
that  way." 

I  had  'em  grouped  conspicuous  and  dramatic ; 
and,  with  Mrs.  Flynn 's  straw  lid  tilted  on  one 
side,  and  the  youngster  whimperin'  to  be  let 
loose  among  the  flowers,  and  the  baby  sound 
asleep  with  its  mouth  open,  the  picture  was 
more  or  less  pathetic. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  garden  path  was  a  dif- 
ferent sort  of  scene.  Ella  May  was  making 
Mr.  Robert  hold  one  end  of  a  daisy  chain  she 
was  weavin',  and  she's  prattlin'  away  kittenish 
when  I  edges  up,  scufflin'  my  feet  warnin'  on 
the  gravel.  She  greets  me  with  a  pout.  Mr. 
Robert  hangs  his  head  sort  of  sheepish,  but 
asks  hopeful: 

"Well,  Torchy?" 


320          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

1  'She — she's  here  again,  sir,"  says  I. 

"Eh!"  says  he,  starin'  puzzled.  "Who  is 
here?" 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  I,  shakin'  my  head  mys- 
terious. 

All  of  which  don't  escape  Miss  Buell.  Her 
ears  are  up  and  her  eyes  wide  open.  l '  What  is 
it?"  she  asks. 

"  If  I  could  have  a  few  words  in  private  with 
you,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  "maybe  it  would 
be " 

"Nonsense!"  says  he.    "Out  with  it." 

"Just  as  you  like,"  says  I.  "Only,  she's 
brought  the  kids  with  her  this  time.  She  says 
how  she  wants  her  Robert  back." 

"Wha-a-at!"  he  gasps. 

"Couldn't  keep  her  out,"  says  I.  "You 
know  how  she  is.  There  they  are,  at  the 
gate. ' ' 

I  don't  know  which  was  quicker  to  turn 
and  look,  him  or  Ella  May.  And  just  then  Mrs. 
Flynn  happens  to  be  gazin'  our  way,  pleadin' 
and  expectant. 

"Oh!"  says  Mr.  Robert,  laughin'  careless. 
"Katie,  eh?" 

Miss  Buell  has  jumped  and  is  starin'  at  the 
group.  Then,  at  that  laugh  of  Mr.  Robert's, 
she  whirls  on  him. 

"Brute!"  says  she.  "I'm  glad  she's  found 
you." 


WHEN  ELLA  MAY  CAME  BY      321 

With  which  she  dashes  towards  the  house 
and  disappears,  leavin'  Mr.  Eobert  gawpin' 
after  her. 

''Why,"  says  he,  "you — you  don't  suppose 
she  could  have  imagined  that — that " 

"Maybe  she  did,"  says  I.  "My  fault,  I  ex- 
pect. I  could  find  her,  though,  and  explain  how 
it  was.  I'll  bet  that  inside  of  five  minutes  she'd 
be  back  here  finishin'  the  floral  wreath.  Shall 
I?  " 

"Back  here?"  he  echoes,  kind  of  vague. 
Then  he  comes  to. 

"No,  no!"  says  he.  "I — I'd  rather  not.  I 

want  first  to Where  is  Miss  Hampton, 

Torchy?" 

Well,  I  gives  him  full  directions  for  findin' 
her,  slips  Mrs.  Eyan  the  twenty  he  sends  her 
instead  of  news  from  hubby,  and  then  goes  in, 
to  find  that  Ella  May  is  demandin'  to  be  taken 
to  the  next  train.  We  saw  that  she  caught  it, 
too,  before  she  changed  her  mind. 

"By  George!"  Mr.  Robert  whispers  confi- 
dential to  me,  as  the  limousine  rolls  off  with  her 
in  it,  "if  I  could  insure  against  such  risks  as 
that,  I  would  take  out  a  policy." 

"You  can,"  says  I.  "Any  justice  of  the 
peace  or  minister  will  fix  you  up  for 
life." 

Does  that  sink  in?  I  wouldn't  wonder.  Any- 
way, from  the  hasty  glimpse  I  caught  of  him 


322          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

and  Miss  Hampton  strollin'  out  in  the  moon- 
light that  night,  it  looked  that  way. 

So  I  did  have  a  bulletin  for  Old  Hickory  Mon- 
day mornin'. 

"It's  all  over  but  the  shoutin',"  says  I. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SOME  HOOP-LA  FOR  THE  BOSS 

I  MUST  say  it  wa'n't  such  a  swell  time  for 
Mr.  Robert  to  be  indulgin'  in  any  complicated 
love  affair.  You  know  how  business  has  been, 
specially  our  line.  And  our  directors  was  about 
as  calm  as  a  bunch  of  high  school  girls  havin' 
hysterics.  Jumpy?  Say,  some  of  them  double- 
chinned  old  plutes  couldn't  reach  for  a  glass 
of  ice  water  without  goin'  through  motions  like 
they  was  shakin'  dice. 

It's  this  sporty  market  that  had  got  on  their 
nerves.  You  know,  all  these  combine  rumors — 
this  bunk  about  Germany  buyin'  up  plants 
wholesale,  and  the  grand  scrabble  to  fill  all 
them  whackin'  big  foreign  orders,  with  steamer 
charters  about  as  numerous  as  twin  baby  car- 
riages along  Riverside  Drive.  Why,  say,  at 
one  time  there  you  could  have  sold  us  ferry- 
boats or  garbage-scows,  we  was  so  hungry  for 
anything  that  would  carry  ocean  freights. 

And,  of  course,  with  Old  Hickory  Ellins  at 
the  helm,  the  Corrugated  Trust  was  right  in 
the  thick  of  it.  About  twice  a  week  some  fool 
yarn  was  floated  about  us.  We'd  sold  out  to 

323 


324          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Krupps  and  was  goin'  to  close;  we'd  tied  up 
with  Bethlehem;  we'd  underbid  on  a  flock  of 
submarines  and  was  due  for  a  receivership — 
oh,  a  choice  lot  of  piffle ! 

But  a  few  of  them  nervous  old  boys,  who  was 
placid  enough  at  annual  meetin's  watchin'  a 
melon  bein'  cut,  just  couldn't  stand  the  strain. 
Every  time  they  got  fed  up  on  some  new  dope 
from  the  Wall  Street  panic  peddlers,  they'd 
come  around  howlin'  for  a  safe  and  sane  pol- 
icy. I  stood  it  until  here  the  other  mornin' 
when  a  bunch  of  soreheads  showed  up  before 
nine  o'clock  and  proceeds  to  hold  an  indigna- 
tion meetin'  in  front  of  my  desk. 

"Gwan!"  says  I.  "Nobody's  rockin'  the 
boat  but  you.  Go  sit  on  your  checkbooks." 

They  just  glares  at  me. 

"Where  is  Old  Hickory?"  one  of  'em  wants 
to  know. 

"About  now,"  says  I,  "Mr.  Ellins  would  be 
finishin'  the  last  of  three  soft-boiled  eggs. 
He'll  show  up  here  at  nine-forty-five." 

"Mr.  Robert  Ellins,  then?"  demands  an- 
other. 

"Say,  I'm  no  puzzle  editor,"  says  I. 
"Maybe  he'll  be  here  to-day  and  maybe  he 
won't." 

"But  we  couldn't  find  him  yesterday, 
either,"  comes  back  an  old  goat  with  tufts 
in  his  ears. 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOB  THE  BOSS    325 

"That's  a  way  he  has  these  days,"  says  I. 

No  use  tryin'  to  smooth  things  over.  It's  Mr. 
Eobert  they'd  been  sore  on  all  along,  suspectin' 
him  of  startin'  all  the  wild  schemes  just  be- 
cause he's  young.  I'd  heard  'em,  after  they'd 
moved  into  the  directors'  room,  insistin'  that 
he  ought  to  be  asked  to  resign.  And  what  they 
was  beefin'  specially  about  to-day  was  because 
of  a  tale  that  a  Chicago  syndicate  had  jumped 
in  and  bought  the  Balboa,  a  10,000-ton  Nor- 
wegian freighter  that  we  was  supposed  to  have 
an  option  on.  It  was  the  final  blow.  That  satis- 
fied 'em  they  was  being  sold  out,  and  their  best 
guess  was  that  Mr.  Robert  was  turnin'  the 
trick. 

I  was  standin'  by,  listenin'  to  the  general 
grouch  develop,  and  wonderin '  how  long  before 
they'd  organize  a  lynchin'  committee,  when  I 
hears  the  brass  gate  slam,  and  into  the  private 
office  breezes  Mr.  Eobert  himself,  lookin'  fresh 
and  chirky,  his  hat  tilted  well  back,  and  swingin' 
a  bamboo  walkin '-stick.  When  he  sees  me,  he 
springs  a  wide  grin  and  grabs  me  by  the 
shoulders. 

"Torchy,  you  sunny-haired  emblem  of  good 
luck!"  he  sings  out.  "What  do  you  think? 
I  've — got — her ! ' ' 

"Eh!"  says  I.    "The  Balboa?" 

* l  The  Balboa  be  hanged ! ' '  says  he.    *  *  No,  no ! 


.326          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

Elsa — Miss  Hampton,  you  know!  She's  mine, 
Torchy;  she's  mine!" 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  I,  noddin'  towards  the  other 
room.  ''Forget  her  a  minute  and  brace  your- 
self for  a  run-in  with  that  gang  of  rag-chewers 
in  there." 

Does  he?  Say,  without  even  stoppin'  to  size 
'em  up,  he  prances  right  in  amongst  'em,  free 
and  careless. 

"Why,  hello,  Ryder!"  says  he,  handin'  out 
a  brisk  shoulder-pat.  "Ah,  Mr.  Larkin!  Mr. 
Busbee!  Well,  well!  You  too,  Hyde?  Hail, 
all  of  you,  and  the  top  of  the  morning!  Gen- 
tlemen," he  goes  on,  shakin'  hands  right  and 
left  without  noticin'  how  reluctant  some  of  the 
palms  came  out,  "I — er — I  have  a  little  an- 
nouncement to  make." 

' '  Humph ! ' '  snorts  old  Busbee.    '  *  Have  you  1 ' ' 

"Yes,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  smilin'  mushy. 
"I — er — the  fact  is,  I  am  going  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

"The  bonehead!"  I  whispers  husky. 

Old  Lawson  T.  Ryder,  the  one  with  the  bushy 
white  eyebrows  and  the  heavy  dewlaps,  he  putfs 
out  his  cheeks  and  works  that  under  jaw  of  his 
menacin'. 

"Really!"  says  he.  "But  what  about  the 
Balboa?  Eh?" 

"Oh!"  says  Mr.  Robert  casual.  "The  Bal- 
boa? Yes,  yes !  Didn't  I  tell  someone  to  attend 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOB  THE  BOSS    327 

to  that?  A  charter,  wasn't  it?  Torchy,  were- 
you " 

I  shakes  my  head. 

"Perhaps  it  was  Mr.  Piddie,  then,"  says  he. 
"  Anyway,  I  thought  I  asked " 

" Here's  Piddie  now,  sir,"  says  I.  "Looks 
like  he'd  been  after  something." 

He's  a  wreck,  that's  all.  His  derby  is  caved 
in,  his  black  cutaway  all  smooched  with  lime 
or  something,  and  one  eye  is  tinted  up  lovely. 
In  his  right  fist,  though,  he  has  a  long  yellow 
envelope. 

"The  charter!"  he  gasps  out  dramatic. 
"Balboal" 

And,  by  piecin'  out  more  jerky  bulletins,  it's 
clear  that  Piddie  has  pulled  off  the  prize  stunt 
of  his  whole  career.  He'd  gone  out  after  that 
charter  at  lunchtime  the  day  before,  been 
stalled  off  by  office  clerks  probably  subsidized 
by  the  opposition,  spent  the  night  hangin' 
around  the  water-front,  and  got  mixed  up  with 
a  dock  gang;  but,  by  bein'  on  hand  early,  he'd 
caught  one  of  the  shippin'  firm  and  closed  the 
option  barely  two  hours  before  it  lapsed.  And 
as  he  sinks  limp  into  a  chair  he  glances  ap- 
pealin'  at  Mr.  Robert,  no  doubt  expectin'  to  be 
decorated  on  the  spot. 

"By  George!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Good 
work !  But  you  haven't  heard  of  my  great  luck 


328  TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

meantime.     Listen,  Piddie.     I  am  to  be  mar- 
ried!" 

I  thought  Piddie  would  croak. 

II  Think  of  that,  gentlemen,"  cuts  in  old  Bus- 
bee  sarcastic.    "He  is  to  be  married!" 

But  it  needs  more'n  a  little  jab  like  that  to 
bring  Mr.  Robert  out  of  his  Romeo  trance. 
Honest,  the  way  he  carries  on  is  amazin'.  You 
might  have  thought  this  was  the  first  case  on 
record  where  a  girl  who'd  said  she  wouldn't 
had  changed  her  mind.  And,  so  far  as  any 
other  happenin's  was  concerned,  he  might  have 
been  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind.  The  entire  news 
of  the  world  that  mornin'  he  could  boil  down 
into  one  official  statement :  Elsa  had  said  she  'd 
have  him!  Hip,  hip!  Banzai!  Elsa  forever! 
He  flashed  that  miniature  of  her  and  passed 
it  around.  He  nudges  Lawson  T.  Ryder  playful 
in  the  short  ribs,  hammers  Deacon  Larkin  on 
the  back,  and  then  groups  himself,  beamin' 
foolish,  with  one  arm  around  old  Busbee  and 
the  other  around  Mr.  Hyde. 

Maybe  you  know  how  catchin'  that  sort  of 
thing  is?  It's  got  the  measles  or  barber's  itch 
beat  seven  ways.  That  bunch  of  grouches  just 
couldn't  resist.  Inside  of  five  minutes  they 
was  grinnin'  with  him,  and  when  I  finally  shoos 
'em  out  they  was  formin'  a  committee  to 
shake  each  other  down  for  two  hundred  per 
towards  a  weddin'  present. 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOR  THE  BOSS    329 

I  finds  it  about  as  much  use  tryin '  to  get  Mr. 
Robert  to  settle  down  to  business  as  it  would 
be  teachin'  a  hummin '-bird  to  sit  for  his  photo- 
graph. So  I  gives  up,  and  asks  for  details  of 
the  big  event. 

''When  does  it  come  off!"  says  I. 

"Oh,  right  away,"  says  he.  "I  don't  know 
just  when;  but  soon — very  soon." 

"Home  or  church?"  says  I. 

"Oh,  either,"  says  he.  "It  doesn't  matter 
in  the  least." 

"Maybe  it  don't,"  says  I,  "but  it's  a  point 
someone  has  to  settle,  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes,"  says  he,  wavin'  careless.  "I've 
no  doubt  someone  will." 

He  was  right.  Up  to  then  I  hadn't  heard 
much  about  Miss  Hampton's  fam'ly  except  that 
she  was  an  orphan,  and  I  expect  Mr.  Robert  had 
an  idea  there  wa'n't  any  nosey  relations  to 
butt  in.  But  it  ain't  three  days  after  the  en- 
gagement got  noised  around  that  a  cousin  of 
Elsa's  shows  up,  a  Mrs.  Montgomery  Pulsifer 
— a  swell  party  with  a  big  place  in  the  Berk- 
shires. 

Seems  she  'd  been  kind  of  cold  and  distant  to 
Miss  Hampton  on  account  of  her  bein'  a  con- 
cert singer ;  but,  now  that  Elsa  has  drawn  down 
a  prize  like  Robert  Ellins,  here  comes  Mrs. 
Pulsifer  flutterin'  to  town,  all  smiles  and 
greatly  excited.  Where  was  the  wedding  to  be  ? . 


330         TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

And  the  reception?  Not  in  this  stuffy  little 
hotel  suite,  she  hopes !  Why  not  at  Crag  Oaks, 
her  place  near  Lenox?  There  was  the  dearest 
little  ivy-covered  church!  And  a  perfectly 
charming  rector! 

Then  Sister  Marjorie  is  called  in.  Sure,  she 
was  strong  for  the  frilly  stuff.  If  Brother  Rob- 
ert had  finally  decided  to  be  married,  it  must  be 
done  properly.  And  Mrs.  Pulsifer's  country 
house  would  be  just  the  place.  Only,  she  had 
an  idea  that  their  old  fam'ly  friend,  the  Bishop, 
ought  to  be  asked  to  officiate.  The  perfectly 
charming  rector  might  assist. 

"Why,  to  be  sure!"  says  Mrs.  Pulsifer. 
"The  Bishop,  by  all  means." 

Anyway,  it  went  something  like  that ;  and  the 
first  thing  Mr.  Robert  knows,  they've  doped  out 
for  him  a  regulation  three-ring  splicefest  with 
all  the  trimmin's,  from  a  gold-braided  carriage 
caller  to  a  special  train  for  the  Newport  guests. 
And,  bein'  still  busy  with  his  rosy  dreams,  Mr. 
Robert  don't  get  wise  to  what's  been  framed 
up  for  him  until  here  Saturday  afternoon  out 
at  Marjorie 's,  when  they  start  to  spring  the 
programme  on  him. 

"Why,  see  here,  sis,"  says  he,  "you've  put 
this  three  weeks  off!" 

"The  bridesmaids'  gowns  can't  be  finished 
a  day  sooner,"  says  Marjorie.  "Besides,  the 
invitations  must  be  engraved;  you  can't  get 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOR  THE  BOSS   331 

a  caterer  like  Marselli  at  a  moment's  notice; 
and  there  is  the  organ  to  be  installed,  you 
know. ' ' 

"Organ!"  protests  Mr.  Robert.  "Oh,  I 
say!" 

"You  don't  expect  the  Lohengrin  March  to 
be  played  on  drums,  I  hope,"  said  Marjorie. 
"Do  be  sensible!  You've  been  best  man  times 
enough  to  know  that " 

"Great  Scott,  yes,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "But 
really,  sis,  I  don't  want  to  go  through  all  that 
dreary  business — dragging  in  to  the  wedding 
march,  with  everyone  looking  solemn  and 
holding  their  breath  while  they  stare  at  you! 
Why,  it's  deadly!  Gloomy,  you  know;  a 
relic  of  barbarism  worthy  of  some  savage 
tribe." 

"Why,  Robert!"  protests  Marjorie. 

"But  it  is,"  he  goes  on.  "Haven't  I  pitied 
the  poor  victims  who  had  to  go  through  with 
it?  Think  of  having  to  run  that  gauntlet — 
morbidly  curious  old  women,  silly  girls,  bored 
men — and  trying  to  keep  step  to  that  con- 
founded dirge.  Wedding  march,  indeed! 
They  make  it  sound  more  like  the  march  of 
the  condemned.  Tum-tum-te-dumf  Ugh!  I  tell 
you,  Marjorie,  I'm  not  going  to  have  it.  Nor 
any  of  this  stodgy,  grewsome  fuss.  I  mean 
to  have  a  cheerful  wedding." 

"Humph!"  says  Marjorie.    "I  suppose  you 


332          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

would  like  to  hop-skip-and-jump  down  to  the 
altar?" 

"Why  not?"  asks  Mr.  Robert. 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Robert,"  says  she. 
"You'll  be  married  quite  respectably  and 
sanely,  as  other  people  are.  Anyway,  you'll 
just  have  to.  Mrs.  Pulsifer  and  I  are  manag- 
ing the  affair,  remember." 

"Are  you?"  says  Mr.  Robert,  lettin'  out  the 
first  growl  I  'd  heard  from  him  in  over  a  week. 

I  nudges  Vee  and  we  exchanges  grins. 

"The  groom  always  takes  on  that  way,"  she 
whispers.  "It's  the  usual  thing." 

I  was  sorry  for  the  Boss,  too.  He'd  been 
havin'  such  a  good  time  before.  But  now  he 
goes  off  with  his  chin  down  and  his  brow  all 
wrinkled  up.  Course  we  knew  he'd  go  straight 
to  Elsa  and  tell  her  his  troubles.  But  I 
couldn't  see  where  that  was  goin'  to  do  him 
any  good.  You  know  how  women  are  about 
such  things.  They  may  be  willin'  to  take  a 
chance  along  some  lines,  but  when  it  comes  to 
weddin's  and  funerals  they're  stand-patters. 

So  Sunday  afternoon,  when  I  gets  a  'phone 
call  from  Mr.  Robert  askin'  me  to  meet  him 
at  Miss  Hampton's  apartment,  and  he  adds  that 
he's  decided  to  duck  the  whole  Crag  Oaks 
proposition  and  do  it  his  own  way,  I  demands 
suspicious : 

"But  how  about  Miss  Elsa?" 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOE  THE  BOSS  333 

"She  feels  just  as  I  do  about  it,"  says  he. 
"Come  up.  She  will  tell  you  so  herself." 

And  she  does. 

"I  think  it's  the  silly  veil  to  which  I  object 
most,"  says  she.  "As  if  anyone  ever  did  see 
a  blushing  bride!  Why,  the  ordeal  has  them 
half  scared  to  death,  poor  things!  And  no 
wonder.  Yes,  I  quite  agree  with  Robert.  Wed- 
dings should  be  actually  happy  affairs — not 
stiff,  gloomy  ceremonies  cumbered  with  out- 
worn conventions.  I've  seen  women  weep  at 
weddings.  If  I  should  catch  one  doing  that  at 
mine,  I  should  be  tempted  to  box  her  ears. 
Really!  So  we  have  decided  that  our  wedding 
must  be  a  merry  one.  That  is  why,  Torchy, 
we  have  sent  for  you." 

"Eh?"  says  I,  gawpin'. 

"You  are  to  be  best  man,"  says  Mr.  Robert, 
clappin'  me  on  the  back. 

"Me!"  I  gasps.    "Ah,  say!" 

"Your  Miss  Verona,"  adds  Elsa,  "is  to  be 
my  only  bridesmaid." 

"Well,  that  helps,"  says  I.  "But  how— 
where " 

1 '  It  doesn  't  matter, ' '  says  Mr.  Robert.  '  *  Any- 
where in  the  State — or  I  can  get  a  Connecticut 
or  New  Jersey  license.  It  shall  be  wherever 
you  decide." 

"Wha-a-at?"  says  I. 

Mr.  Robert  chuckles. 


334          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

• 

"As  best  man,"  he  goes  on,  "we  appoint  you 
general  manager  of  the  whole  affair ;  don 't  we, 
Elsa?" 

She  nods,  smilin'. 

"With  full  powers,"  says  she. 

"We'll  motor  out  somewhere,"  adds  Mr» 
Robert.  "You  and  Miss  Vee  take  the  limousine; 
we  will  go  in  the  roadster.  If  Marjorie  and 
Ferdie  wish  to  come  along,  they  can  join  us 
in  their  car. ' ' 

"How  about  a  dominie  I"  says  I.  "Do  I  pick 
up  one  casual  along  the  road?" 

'  *  Oh,  I  forgot  the  Reverend  Percy, ' '  says  Mr. 
Robert.  "He's  consented  to  quit  that  East 
Side  settlement  work  of  his  for  a  day.  You'll 
have  to  take  him  along.  Now,  how  soon  may 
we  start?  To-morrow  morning,  say?" 

"Hel-lup!"  says  I.    "I'm  gettin'  dizzy." 

"Then  Tuesday,"  says  he,  "at  nine-thirty 
sharp." 

"But  say,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  "just 
what " 

"Only  make  it  as  merry  as  you  know  how," 
he  breaks  in.  "That's  the  main  idea;  isn't  it, 
Elsa?" 

Another  nod  from  Elsa. 

"Robert  has  great  faith  in  you  as  a  pro- 
moter of  cheerful  affairs,"  says  she.  "I  think 
I  have,  too." 

"That  being  the  case,"  says  I,  "I  got  to  live 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOR  THE  BOSS   335 

up  to  my  rep.  or  strip  a  gear.    So  here  goes." 

With  which  I  breezes  out  and  pikes  uptown  to 
consult  Vee. 

1  'Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so  batty?" 
says  I. 

"Why,  I  think  it's  perfectly  splendid  fun," 
says  Vee.  "Just  think,  Torchy,  you  can  do 
anything  you  choose!" 

"It's  the  choosin'  that's  goin'  to  bother  me," 
says  I.  "I'm  no  matrimonial  stage  manager. 
I  don't  even  know  where  to  pull  the  thing 
off." 

"I've  thought  of  just  the  place,"  says  she. 
"Harbor  Hill,  the  Vernon  Markleys'  place  out 
on  Long  Island.  They're  in  the  mountains 
now,  you  know,  and  the  house  is  closed; 
but " 

"You  ain't  thinkin'  of  borrowin'  their 
garage  for  this,  are  you?"  says  I. 

"Silly!"  says  she.  "Mrs.  Markley's  open- 
air  Greek  theater!  You  must  have  seen  pic- 
tures of  it.  It's  a  dream — white  cement  per- 
golas covered  with  woodbine  and  pink  ramblers, 
and  a  wonderful  stretch  of  lawn  in  front.  It 
would  be  an  ideal  setting.  She 's  a  great  friend 
of  Aunty's.  We'll  just  wire  for  her  permis- 
sion ;  shall  we  ?  " 

"Listens  good,"  says  I.  "But  we  got  to 
get  busy.  Tuesday,  you  know.  What  about 
eats,  though?" 


336          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

" There's  a  country  club  only  half  a  mile 
away,"  says  she. 

"You're  some  grand  little  planner,"  says  I. 
"Now  let  me  go  plot  out  how  to  put  the  tra- 
la-la  business  into  the  proceedin's." 

I  had  a  hunch  that  part  would  come  easy, 
too ;  but  after  a  couple  of  hours'  steady  thinkin' 
I  decided  that  as  a  joy  producer  I'd  been  over- 
rated. The  best  I  could  dig  out  was  to  hunt 
up  some  music,  and  by  Monday  noon  that  was 
my  total  contribution.  I'd  hired  a  band.  It's 
some  band,  though — one  of  these  fifteen-piece 
dance-hall  combinations  that  had  just  closed  a 
Coney  Island  engagement  and  was  guaranteed 
to  tear  off  this  affair  in  zippy  style.  I  left 
word  what  station  they  was  to  get  off  at,  and 
'phoned  for  a  couple  of  jitneys  to  meet 
'em.  For  the  rest,  I  was  bankin'  on  my 
luck. 

And  right  on  schedule  we  makes  a  nine-thirty 
getaway — three  machines  in  all;  for,  while 
Marjorie  had  thrown  seventeen  cat  fits  when 
she  first  heard  that  Brother  Robert  had  re- 
nigged,  she  shows  up  with  Ferdie  at  the  last 
minute.  Catch  her  missin'  out  on  any  kind  of  a 
weddin'! 

"But  just  where,  Robert,"  she  demands,  "is 
this  absurd  affair  to  take  place1?" 

"Haven't  the  least  idea,"  says  he.  "Ask 
Torchy." 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOR  THE  BOSS   337 

So  I  names  the  spot,  gives  the  chauffeurs 
their  route  directions,  and  off  we  booms  across 
the  College  Point  ferry  and  out  towards  the 
far  end  of  the  north  shore.  The  Reverend 
Percy  turns  out  to  be  kind  of  a  solemn,  serious- 
minded  gink.  Seems  he'd  been  in  college  with 
Mr.  Robert,  had  rooms  just  across  the  hall, 
and  accordin'  to  his  tell  them  must  have  been 
lively  days. 

"Although  I  can't  say,"  he  adds,  "that  at 
all  times  I  enjoyed  being  pulled  out  of  bed  at 
2  A.M.  to  act  as  judge  of  an  ethical  debate  be- 
tween a  fuddled  cab-driver  and  a  star  half- 
back who  had  been  celebrating  a  football  vic- 
tory. I  fear  I  considered  Bob's  sense  of  humor 
somewhat  overdeveloped.  Just  like  him,  run- 
ning off  like  this.  I  trust  the  affair  is  not  go- 
ing to  be  made  too  unconventional." 

I  winks  at  Vee. 

"Only  an  open-air  performance,"  says  I, 
"with  maybe  a  little  cheerin'  music  to  liven 
things  up.  His  instructions  are  to  have  it 
merry. '  ' 

"Ah,  yes!"  says  the  Reverend  Percy. 
"Quite  so.  I  understand." 

If  he  did  he  was  a  better  guesser  than  me. 
For  I  was  more  or  less  at  sea.  We  hadn't  more 
than  whirled  in  through  the  stone  gate-posts 
of  Harbor  Hill,  too,  than  I  begun  to  scent  com- 
plications. For  there,  lined  up  in  front  of  the 


338          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

house,  are  four  other  machines,  with  a  whole 
mob  of  people  around  'em. 

1 '  Why ! ' '  says  Vee.    ' '  Who  can  they  be  ? " 

1  'Looks  like  someone  had  beaten  us  to  it," 
says  I.  "I'll  go  do  some  scoutin'." 

Course,  one  close-up  look  is  all  that's  needed. 
It's  a  movie  outfit.  I'm  just  gettin'  hot  under 
the  collar,  too,  when  I  discovers  that  the  gent 
in  charge  is  none  other  than  my  old  newspaper 
friend,  Whitey  Weeks.  I'd  heard  how  he'd 
gone  into  the  film  game  as  stage  director,  but 
I  hadn't  seen  him  at  it  yet.  And  here  he  is,  big 
as  life,  wearin'  a  suit  of  noisy  plaids  as  usual, 
and  bossin'  this  assorted  bunch  of  screen  fa- 
vorites like  he'd  done  it  all  his  life. 

"A  little  lively  with  those  grease-paints  now, 
ladies,"  he's  callin'  out.  "This  isn't  for  a 
next  spring  release,  you  know." 

"Huh!"  says  I,  strollin'  up.  "Got  the  same 
old  nerve  with  you,  eh,  Whitey?" 

' '  Well,  well ! ' '  says  he.  ' '  The  illustrious  and 
illuminating  Torchy !  Don't  tell  me  you've  just 
bought  the  estate?" 

"Would  it  matter  to  you  who  owned  it,"  says 
I,  "if  you  wanted  to  use  it  bad?" 

' '  Such  cruel  suspicions ! ' '  says  he.  ' '  Sir,  my 
permit ! ' ' 

He's  got  it,  straight  enough — a  note  to  the 
lodge-keeper,  signed  by  Mrs.  Vernon  Mark- 
ley,  and  statin'  that  the  Unexcelled  Film  Com- 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOR  THE  BOSS   339 

pany  was  to  have  the  courtesy  of  the  grounds 
any  afternoon  between  the  15th  and  25th. 

"You  see,"  explains  Whitey,  "we're  staging 
an  old  English  costume  piece,  and  this  Greek 
theater  of  Mrs.  Markley's  just  fits  in.  Our 
president  worked  the  deal  for  us.  .And  weVe 
got  to  do  a  thousand  feet  between  now  and 
five  o'clock.  Not  in  the  same  line,  are  you!" 

And  he  glances  towards  our  crowd,  that's 
pilin'  out  of  the  cars  and  gazin'  puzzled  to- 
wards us. 

"Do  we  look  it?"  says  I.  "No,  what  we 
was  plannin'  to  pull  off  here  was  a  weddin'. 
That's  the  groom  there — my  boss,  Mr.  Robert 
Effing." 

"Bob  Ellins!"  says  Whitey.    "Whe-e-ew!" 

"Mrs.  Markley  must  have  forgot,"  says  I. 
"Makes  it  kind  of  awkward  for  us,  though." 

' '  But  see  here, ' '  says  Whitey.  ' '  A  real  wed- 
ding, you  say?  Why,  that's  odd!  That's  our 
stunt,  with  merry  villagers  and  all  that  stuff. 

Now,  say,  why  couldn't  we Let's  see!  Do 

you  suppose  Mr.  Ellins  would  mind  if " 

I  got  the  idea  in  a  flash. 

"He  won't  mind  anything,"  says  I,  "so  long 
as  he  can  be  married  merry.  He's  leavin'  that 
to  me — the  whole  act." 

' '  By  Jove ! ' '  says  Whitey.  '  *  The  very  thing, 

then.  We'll But  who  else  is  this  arriving! 

Look,  coming  in,  two  motor-buses  full!" 


340          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

" That's  our  band,"  says  I. 

''Great!"  says  Whitey.  "Rovelli's,  too! 
Say,  this  is  going  to  be  a  bit  of  all  right !  Have 
him  form  'em  on  between  those  cedars,  out  of 
range.  Now  we'll  just  get  your  folks  into  cos- 
tume, let  our  company  trail  along  as  part  of 
the  wedding  procession,  and  shoot  the  dear  pub- 
lic the  real  thing,  for  once.  What  do  you 
say?" 

Course,  considerin'  how  Mr.  Robert  had 
shied  at  a  hundred  or  so  spectators,  this  let- 
tin'  him  in  on  a  film  exchange  circuit  might 
seem  a  little  raw ;  but  it  was  too  good  a  chance 
to  miss.  Another  minute,  and  I'm  strollin' 
over,  lookin'  bland  and  innocent. 

"Any  hitch?"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "Have  we 
got  to  the  wrong  place?" 

"Not  much,"  says  I.  "This  is  the  right 
place  at  the  right  time.  Didn't  you  tell  me  to 
go  as  far  as  I  liked,  so  long  as  I  made  it 
merry!" 

"So  I  did,  Torchy,"  he  admits. 

"Then  prepare  to  cut  loose,"  says  I.  "This 
way,  everybody,  and  get  on  your  weddin' 
clothes!"  * 

For  a  second  or  so  Mr.  Robert  hangs  back. 
He  glances  doubtful  at  Miss  Hampton.  But 
say,  she's  a  good  sport,  she  is. 

"Come  along,  Robert,"  says  she.  "I'm  sure 
Torchy  has  planned  something  unique." 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOE  THE  BOSS   341 

I  didn't  dispute  her.  It  was  all  of  that. 
First  we  groups  the  ladies  on  the  south  veranda 
behind  a  lot  of  screens,  and  herds  the  men 
around  the  corner.  Then  we  unpacks  them  suit- 
cases of  Whitey's  and  distributes  the  things. 
Such  regalias,  too!  What  Mr.  Robert  draws 
is  mostly  two  colored  tights,  spangled  trunks, 
a  gorgeous  cape,  peak-toed  shoes  of  red  leather, 
and  a  sword.  Maybe  he  didn't  look  some  spiffy 
in  it! 

You  should  have  seen  Ferdie,  though,  with 
a  tow-colored  wig  clapped  down  over  his  ears 
and  his  spindle  shanks  revealed  to  a  cold  and 
cruel  world  in  a  pair  of  faded  pink  ballet 
trousers.  For  the  Reverend  Percy  they  dug 
out  a  fuzzy  brown  bathrobe  with  a  hood,  and 
tied  a  rope  around  his  waist.  Me,  I'm  dolled 
up  in  green  tights  and  a  leather  coat,  and  get 
a  bugle  to  carry. 

How  frisky  a  few  freak  clothes  make  you  feel, 
don't  they?  Mr.  Robert  begins  cuttin'  up  at 
once,  and  even  Ferdie  shows  signs  of  wantin' 
to  indulge  in  frivolous  motions,  if  he  only  knew 
how.  The  reg'lar  movie  people  gets  the  idea 
this  is  goin'  to  be  some  kind  of  a  lark,  and  they 
joins  in,  too.  When  the  ladies  appeared  they 
sure  looked  stunnin'.  Miss  Hampton  has  on 
a  fancy  flarin'  collar  two  feet  high,  and  a  skirt 
like  a  balloon;  but  she's  a  star  in  it  just  the 
same.  Sister  Marjorie,  who's  a  bit  husky  any- 


342          TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

way,  looks  like  a  human  hay-stack  in  that  rig. 
And  Vee — well,  say,  she'd  be  a  winner  in  any 
date  costume  you  could  name. 

Meanwhile  Whitey  has  posted  his  camera 
men  in  the  shrubbery,  where  they  can  get  the 
focus  without  bein'  seen,  and  has  rounded  us 
up  for  a  little  preliminary  coachin'. 

"Remember,"  says  he,  "what  we're  sup- 
posed to  be  doing  is  a  wedding,  back  in  the  days 
of  Robin  Hood,  with  all  the  merry  villagers 
given  a  day  off.  So  make  it  snappy.  We  want 
aetion,  lots  of  it.  Let  yourselves  go.  Laugh, 
kick  up  your  heels,  let  out  the  hi-yi-yips !  Now, 
then!  Are  you  ready?" 

'  *  Wait  until  I  start  the  band, ' '  says  I.  '  *  Hey, 
there,  Mr.  Rovelli!  Music  cue!  Something 
zippy  and  raggy.  Shoot  it!" 

Say,  I  don't  know  how  them  early  English 
parties  used  to  put  it  over  when  they  got  to- 
gether for  a  mad,  gladsome  romp  on  the 
greensward,  but  if  they  had  anything  on  us 
they  must  have  been  double- jointed.  For,  with 
Mr.  Robert  and  Miss  Hampton  skippin'  along 
hand  in  hand,  Vee  and  me  keepin'  step  behind, 
a  couple  of  movie  ladies  rushin'  the  Reverend 
Percy  over  the  grass  rapid,  and  the  other  cou- 
ples with  arms  linked,  doin'  fancy  steps  to  a 
jingly  fox-trot — well,  take  it  from  me,  it  was 
gay  doin's. 

And  when  we'd  galloped  around  over  the 


SOME  HOOP-LA  FOB  THE  BOSS    343 

lawn  until  we'd  bunched  for  the  weddin'  picture 
in  front  of  this  Greek  theater  effect,  the  Rev- 
erend Percy  had  barely  breath  enough  left  to 
go  through  his  lines.  He  does,  though,  with 
Mr.  Robert  addin'  joshin'  remarks;  and  we 
winds  up  by  givin'  the  bride  and  groom  three 
rousin'  cheers  and  peltin'  'em  with  roses  as 
they  makes  a  run  through  the  double  line  we 
forms. 

Yep,  that  was  some  weddin',  if  I  do  say  it. 
And  the  sit-down  luncheon  I'd  ordered  at  the 
Country  Club  in  Mr.  Robert's  name  wa'n't  any 
skimpy  affair,  even  though  we  did  spring  an 
extra  number  on  'em  offhand.  For  the  boss  in- 
sists on  goin'  just  as  we  are,  in  our  costumes, 
and  luggin'  along  all  the  movie  people.  The 
reckless  way  ite  buys  fizz  for  'em,  too ! 

And,  by  the  time  the  party  breaks  up,  Whitey 
Weeks  is  so  full  of  gratitude  and  enthusi- 
asm and  other  things  that  he  near  bubbles 
over. 

"Torchy,"  says  he,  wringin'  my  hand  fra- 
ternal, ''you  have  given  my  company  the  time 
of  their  lives.  They're  all  strong  for  you. 
And,  say,  I've  got  a  thousand  feet  of  film 
that's  simply  going  to  knock  'em  cold  at  the 
first-run  houses.  Any  time  I  can " 

"Don't  mention  it,"  says  I.  "Specially 
about  that  film.  The  boss  don't  know  yet  that 
you  had  the  camera  goin'.  Thought  it  was 


344          TOECHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 

only  rehearsiri',  I  guess.  All  he's  sure  of  now 
is  that  he's  been  married  merry.  And  if  he 
ever  forgets  just  how  merry,  for  a  dime  he 
can  go  take  a  look  and  refresh  Els  mem'ry, 
can't  he?  But  I'm  bettin'  he  never  forgets." 


THE  END 


SEWELL    FORD'S  STORIES 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 


SHORTY   McCABE.      Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

A  very  humorous  story,  The  hero,  an  independent  and  vigorous 
thinker,  sees  life,  and  tells  about  it  in  a  very  unconventional  way. 
SIDE-STEPPING  WITH  SHORTY. 

Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson.  i 

Twenty  skits,    presenting  people   with  their   foibles,     Sympathy! 
with  human  nature  and  an  abounding  sense  of  humor  are  the  requi- 
sites for  "side-stepping  with  Shorty." 
SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

Shorty  McCabe  reappears  with  his  figures  of  speech  revamped 
right  up  to   the   minute.      He  aids  in    the  right  distribution  of  a 
"  conscience  fund,"    and   gives  joy  to   all   concerned. 
SHORTY  McCABE'S  ODD  NUMBERS. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

These  further  chronicles  of  Shorty  McCabe  tell  of  his  studio  for 
physical  culture,  and  of  his  experiences  both  on  the  East  side  and  at 
swell  yachting  parties. 
TORCHY.      Illus,  by  Geo.  Biehm  and  Jas.  Montgomery  Flagg. 

A   red-headed  office  boy,  overflowing    with  wit  and  wisdom  pe- 
culiar to  the  youths  reared  on  the  sidewalks  of  New  York,  tells  the 
story  of  his  experiences. 
TRYING  OUT  TORCHY.      Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy    is  just  as  deliriously  funny  in  these  stories  as  he  was  in 
the   previous  book. 
ON  WITH  TORCHY.      Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy  falls  desperately  in  love  with  "the  only  girl  that  ever 
was,"  but  that  young  society  woman's  aunt  tries  to  keep  the  young 
people  apart,  which  brings  about  many  hilariously  funny  situations. 
TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC.  Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy  rises  from  the  position  of  office  boy  to  that  of  secretary 
/or  the  Corrugated  Iron  Company.    The  story  is  full  of  humor  and 
infectious  American  slang. 
WILT  THOU  TORCHY.      Illus.  by  F.  Snapp  and  A.  W.  Brown. 

Torchy  goes  on  a  treasure  search  expedition  to  the  Florida  West 
Coast,  in  company  with  a  group  of  friends  of  the  Corrugated  Trust 
and  with  his  friend's  aunt,  on  which  trip  Torchy  wins  the  aunt's 
permission  to  place  an  engagement  ring  on  Vee's  finger. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE  BY 

WILLIAM  MacLEOD    RAINE 

HANDSOMELY  BOUND  IN  CLOTH.     ILLUSTRATED. 
May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 

MAVERICKS. 

A  tale  of  the  western  frontier,  where  the  "rustler,"  whose  dep- 
redations  are  so  keenly  resented  by  the  early  settlers  of  the  range, 
abounds.  One  of  the  sweetest  love  stories  ever  told. 

A  TEXAS  RANGER. 

How  a  member  of  the  most  dauntless  border  police  force  carried 
law  into  the  mesquit,  saved  the  life  of  an  innocent  man  after  a  series 
of  thrilling  adventures,  followed  a  fugitive  to  Wyoming,  and  then 
passed  through  deadly  peril  to  ultimate  happiness.  __ 

WYOMING. 

In  this  vivid  story  of  the  outdoor  West  the  author  has  captured 
the  breezy  charm  of  "cattleland,"  and  brings  out  the  turbid  life  of 
the  frontier  with  all  its  engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  mining  centers  of  Montana,  where  poli- 
tics and  mining  industries  are  the  religion  of  the  country.  The 
political  contest,  the  love  scene,  and  the  fine  character  drawing  giva 
this  story  great  strength  and  charm. 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR. 

Every  chapter  teems  with  wholesome,  stirring  adventures,  re. 
plete  with  the  dashing  spirit  of  the  border,  told  with  dramatic  dash 
and  absorbing  fascination  of  style  and  plot. 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT. 

A  story  of  Arizona;  of  swift-riding  men  and  daring  outlaws;  of 
a  bitter  feud  between  cattle-men  and  sheep-herders.  The  heroine 
Is  a  most  unusual  woman  and  her  love  story  reaches  a  culmination 
fhat  is  fittingly  characteristic  of  the  great  free  West. 

BRAND  BLOTTERS. 

A  story  of  the  Cattle  Range.  This  story  brings  out  the  turbia 
life  of  the  frontier,  with  all  its  engaging  dash  and  vigor,  with  a  charm- 
ing love  interest  running  through  its  320  pages. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,     PUBLISHERS,      NEW  YORK 


CTTU 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000708235     7 


